


The "Other" John

by Tindomerelhloni



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angry John Watson, Character Death, Continuation of The Abominable Bride, Eloping, Episode: The Abominable Bride, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, Light case, Lying Mary Morstan, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Nightmares, Parentlock, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock recovering from drugs, Smut, Some Humor, brotherly mycroft, elope, surprise wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 21:55:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tindomerelhloni/pseuds/Tindomerelhloni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of TAB, Sherlock wakes up in the plane and John takes him home, taking care of him, per Mycroft's request. He stays with Sherlock while he recovers. </p>
<p>Some light case work, but main plot of the story is the boys being royal idiots. (What else is new)</p>
<p>I am rubbish at summaries, so I do apologize. </p>
<p>"Miss me?" Sherlock opened his eyes, and through the fog of the drugs that still threatened to take over he found the face of Watson, no John, staring down at him with concern.</p>
<p>That was one hour ago. He was now draped over the sofa, the cold leather sending chills along his neck where it pressed into his skin, every wrinkle and lump of the sofa felt more defined than ever before. John was doting over him, tucking a blanket around his body, lifting his head to place a pillow under it, offering him a glass of water, mentioning that he should make tea.</p>
<p>"Mary?" Sherlock's mouth felt like cotton and he gladly accepted the proffered glass.</p>
<p>"Sent her home." John said flatly, lifting Sherlock's feet to sit at the end of the sofa, placing them over his lap as he turned to look at his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johnlockthedoors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockthedoors/gifts).



> This will be a WIP, however I expect to finish it by mid-late January as I already have most of it written, just not beta'd.
> 
> **** So, most of this is NOT Beta'd. I apologize for the mistakes my ipad is likely going to make. I've been writing most of this on the go, in my free time on my ipad. IF anyone is interested in beta'ing for me, leave me a comment!****

"So, what's he like? The other me, in the other place?" Watson cocked his head, the hand holding the gun with the steady hand of a practiced surgeon.

"Smarter than he looks." Holmes answered, the smallest hint of a smile flickering over his features, unblinking despite the torrent of water splashing on his face. The roar of the waterfall seemed to disappear as he focused on the Army Doctor. The man who, above all odds, had just saved him.

"Pretty damn smart then." Watson grinned suggestively, still pointing the gun level with Moriarty's head.

"Pretty damn smart." Holmes agreed, returning the suggestive smile.

"Ugh. Why don't you two elope, for god's sake?" Though Holmes couldn't see the features on Moriarty's face, he could detect the eye roll as the Maths Professor grew annoyed at their exchange.

"Impertinent." Despite his retort, Watson didn't seem appalled at the suggestion. In fact, he wasn’t even the least bit put off by it.

"Offensive." Holmes said, speaking the word automatically, from years of putting his feelings aside.

"Actually. Would you mind?" Watson stepped closer, nodding towards Moriarty.

"Not at all." Watson stepped forward, sure of his footing on the slippery rocks. Not a hint of doubt shadowed his features. He stepped directly behind Moriarty and with one swift kick Sherlock could feel his inner demons follow the Maths Professor as he fell to the bottom of the chasm. Watson had, once again, saved his life. And not only that, freed him of the inner demons that had haunted him for years.

 

* * *

 

 

"Miss me?" Sherlock opened his eyes, and through the fog of the drugs that still threatened to take over he found the face of Watson, no John, staring down at him with concern.

That was one hour ago. He was now draped over the sofa, the cold leather sending chills along his neck where it pressed into his skin, every wrinkle and lump of the sofa felt more defined than ever before. John was doting over him, tucking a blanket around his body, lifting his head to place a pillow under it, offering him a glass of water, mentioning that he should make tea.

"Mary?" Sherlock's mouth felt like cotton and he gladly accepted the proffered glass.

"Sent her home." John said flatly, lifting Sherlock's feet to sit at the end of the sofa, placing them over his lap as he turned to look at his friend.

"So, what is his plan then? Moriarty." John asked, crossing his arms as if he didn't know what to do with his hands.

Sherlock watched John for a moment, allowing himself a moment to soak in the sight. He was home, 221B Baker Street, with John Watson. Not dead on the jet like he’d intended. Mycroft had known about the drugs in his coat pocket, and had done nothing to stop him. They both knew, even if Sherlock wouldn’t admit to it, that Sherlock couldn’t survive without John.  _ “Been there, done that.”  _ Sherlock thought to himself as he read John’s expression.  _ “Angry, but relieved to be angry. Correction - Relieved to have me to be angry at.” _

This usually was the part where Sherlock would get up and either dash out the door, leaving John Watson to dash after him in hopes of an answer, or slip into his mind palace until he’d derived a full explanation. But now, with his thoughts still foggy, the warmth of John’s lap radiating against his feet. John’s hand now resting gently on his leg, just below his left knee, Sherlock didn’t want to move. 

“Well…” He said sluggishly, fighting off sleep even as he endeavored to sit up to take a sip of water. “We find Moriarty’s twin. And find out which one of them is the mastermind. The dead brother, or the alive one. Reason leads us to believe that the mastermind is the brother who is roaming the streets of London as we speak.” 

“A twin?” John wasn’t surprised, instead his tone told of his amusement. “Surely it isn’t a twin, Sherlock. It's never twins.” 

“Ah, but it is. Don’t you see?” Sherlock placed his cup down on the coffee table and lowered his head back onto the pillow. “Richard Brook, Jim Moriarty… It fits, Watson.” 

“Watson?” John lips twisted into an amused smirk. “Bit… formal, don’t you think? Wait, so who died on the roof then?”

“Brook, if I am not mistaken. And I rarely am.” Sherlock made to sit up, but John’s hand, the one that had been on his leg, pushed him back down against the cushions.

“You’re not going anywhere. Doctors orders.” John’s voice was gentle, but firm. Much like his hand against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock wondered if the doctor could feel his heart, feel just how quickly it was racing, but for once, he didn’t panic. Instead he felt at home, warm, safe, and in John’s own way, loved.

“John… I…” Sherlock mumbled as John fussed with the blanket again, insuring his whole body was neatly tucked beneath it. “You…” He tried to form the sentence he’d meant to say on the tarmac, the sentence he’d meant to say before he’d jumped to his apparent death. But the pull of exhaustion was too great, and before he was able to say  _ “I love you.” _ he was fast asleep, knowing that John Watson was watching out for him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One more.” John agreed, standing up and stretching. “Just let me go throw on something more comfortable.
> 
> “My, my, John.” Sherlock called after him as John headed up the stairs. “You do know how to get a man excited.”
> 
> “Sod off.” John snorted, and Sherlock could hear his laughter echo down the stairs. When John returned he was wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, a long sleeve shirt and the most horrendous Christmas socks he'd ever scene in his life.
> 
> “The socks do it for me.” Sherlock fought back the giggle as John sat, closer than before, on the sofa and gathered up the blanket that had fallen to the floor some time ago.
> 
> “If I didn't know better, I'd think you were flirting with me.” John grumbled, offering part of the blanket to Sherlock.

The next three days were hell for Sherlock, but John stayed with him, so that counted for something. As he fought off the violent fits of withdrawal, mood swings, and chills, John was there for him.  John cooked for him, read to him, sat in silence with him, and once helped him bathe after he’d woken up covered in his own bile. They never spoke of the drugs, or of Sherlock’s OD, however Sherlock knew that John was waiting for him, in his own time, to tell him what had happened. It wasn’t until the end of the fourth day, as they sat closer than normal on the sofa that they even talked. 

“Mary?” Sherlock asked again, casting a sideways glance over to John and was just in time to see the look of guilt on John’s face.

“Home. Came here yesterday, while you were asleep. She was out, appointment for the baby.”

“You didn’t go?” Sherlock was surprised that John would knowingly miss an appointment for his child. 

“Doesn’t like me going. Says I’ll put my two sense in, has enough to worry about without me butting in.” 

“So you’ve…” Sherlock put the pieces together in his mind, feeling that aching suspicion rise in his chest. “never been to an appointment? Not even a scan?” The sad look in John’s eyes was answer enough, but John still shook his head slowly, fingering the pillow sitting his his lap.

“Seen pictures.” He shrugged, and looked like he wanted to talk about anything but his daughter.

“John, I’m…” Sherlock bumped his shoulder against John’s, staying there, leaning against the doctor, soaking up his warmth, “sorry.” 

“Yeah well…” John shrugged, but didn’t move away from Sherlock’s weight.”Takeaway?” John asked, and Sherlock could feel the doctor lean ever so slightly against his shoulder. But surely the content sigh that escaped John's lips had only been Sherlock's own wishful thinking.  _ “Right?” _

“Starved.” Sherlock nodded, finding his sudden excitement for food strange and foreign. But right now the idea of sharing a meal with John felt like exactly what he wanted to do. 

“Angelo’s?” John pulled his phone out of his pocket and with a tap of the screen the phone lit up, illuminating John's face in the growing darkness. 

“Mm.” Sherlock nodded. “Veal Parmesan, side of crisps.”

“You going to eat all that?” John asked with a laugh as he placed the phone to his ear. 

“No.” Sherlock admitted, but he didn't care. “Use my card.” He nodded to the table that separated them from the fireplace, to where his wallet had sat untouched for four days. 

As John stood to retrieve the wallet and place their order Sherlock sauntered off of the sofa and into the kitchen where he filled the kettle and acquired two mugs. 

“Thanks.” John hung up the phone, and Sherlock could tell by the way he had said thanks that Angelo had insisted on delivering, despite a strict “No delivery.” policy. 

“Twenty minutes.” John said, stepping into the kitchen. “What are you…. You never make tea.” John leaned, amused, against the doorframe and smirked. “I'll have you domesticated yet.”

“This is nothing but a rare show of thanks, John.” Sherlock playfully grimaced, as he poured out the tea. Something about the way John paused at the door, the way he held his breath, and how his left hand twitched against his side made Sherlock's heart sink.

“Tomorrow?” He asked, handing John a mug. 

“Yeah, first thing. Been away a while, and you seem to be alright.” John avoided Sherlock's gaze, choosing instead to stare at the steaming mug in his hand. “Christ this is hot!” John surged forward and placed the mug on the table, shaking his hand and cursing under his breath. “Leave the tea to me, Sherlock.” He added, with a playful wink, placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

They both stared at his hand, and Sherlock’s skin felt hot beneath the thin materials of his night shirt and dressing gown. He almost imagined that John's handprint was leaving a permanent mark. John pulled away, slowly, with a loud “Ahem.” and carefully picked up his mug again, this time by the handle. 

“Let's get the Telly set up, yeah? Move it to the middle of the room, and we’ll make fun of some cheesy action flick over dinner?”

“Right.” Sherlock smiled his soft smile that was reserved for John only. Years ago, John had introduced him to a show called Mystery Science Theater 3k, and after his initial annoyance that the show had nothing to do with science or mystery, it had (secretly) become his favorite pastime. Mrs. Hudson and Mary hated watching films with them, as John and Sherlock now constantly made ridiculous remarks anytime they watched anything together. 

 

* * *

 

 

“I can't believe you ate all that.” John groaned, leaning back and loosening his belt as Sherlock turned the Telly off. “Don't think I've seen you eat that much in all the years I've known you. 

“Yes well, I blame your company. You must be rubbing off on me.” Sherlock laughed and patted his stomach. Sherlock fiddled with the remote and glanced sideways at John. “One more? Before you… leave?” Sherlock's tongue suddenly felt heavy, and he fought back bile at the thought of John returning to the woman who'd shot him. 

“One more.” John agreed, standing up and stretching. “Just let me go throw on something more comfortable. 

“My, my, John.” Sherlock called after him as John headed up the stairs. “You do know how to get a man excited.”

“Sod off.” John snorted, and Sherlock could hear his laughter echo down the stairs. When John returned he was wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, a long sleeve shirt and the most horrendous Christmas socks he'd ever scene in his life. 

“The socks do it for me.” Sherlock fought back the giggle as John sat, closer than before, on the sofa and gathered up the blanket that had fallen to the floor some time ago. 

“If I didn't know better, I'd think you were flirting with me.” John grumbled, offering part of the blanket to Sherlock. 

“Wouldn't dream of it. I just really like those socks.” Sherlock put on his most serious face and took part of the blanket. “So, shall we skim the channels and she what's on, or do you have a movie in mind?”

“Don't feel like getting up again. Let's just skim.” John muffled a yawn and settled back against the sofa. 

Three hours later found both of them still sitting together on the sofa, however now John was asleep, his head drooping to the right, hovering inches above Sherlock's shoulder.  _ “If I move like this..” _ Sherlock shifted to the left and raised his shoulder every so slightly, supporting John's head, feeling the tickle of his greying blond hair against his neck. 

He stayed like that, not moving, for some time. In fact time seemed to slip away from him as he listened to the steady breathing of his companion. At one point, long after Sherlock had turned the Telly off, John had scooted close to him, seeking out warmth and comfort. When Sherlock's heart could no longer take being so close to, yet so far, John he gently cleared his throat and nudged his shoulder. John woke with a groggy grunt and he immediately sat up. 

“What time is it?” John stifled a yawn and glanced out the window, eying the dark street.

“Late. We should go to bed.  _ Together. _ ” Sherlock's shoulder suddenly felt cold with the absence of John.

“Right.” John stood, stretched again, raising his arms above his head in such a way that it tugged his shirt up, revealing a inch of skin along his waistband. It took every ounce of Sherlock's self control to keep himself from reaching out and drawing his fingers along the small patch. 

“Goodnight then.” John looked around the room, as if looking for another person to wish good night. 

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock sat, frozen in place. His heart breaking as he watched John walk towards the door, intended on heading up the stairs for what might be his last time. However he paused, hand softly placed against the doorframe as he turned slightly. 

“Get some sleep, Sherlock.” He smiled kindly and with that was gone, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting one more chapter tonight, and then probably one tomorrow... and then the wait begins ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mary…” John clamped a hand over his mouth and stared, ashen faced at the pool of blood that was unmistakable in the bright moonlight. 
> 
> “Mary?” John choked on his words, and for a moment stood there like a statue, watching the labored breathing of his pregnant wife.. “Mary, talk to me.”

The following week after Sherlock's recovery was full of planning, gathering data, and daring chases. Jim Moriarty, the real Jim Moriarty, was a clever fellow, but Sherlock proved (once again) to be more clever by locating his hiding spot. (A decrepit library long left abandoned.) After four nights of long and grueling stakeouts, Sherlock finally felt convinced that tonight was the night they would apprehend him and bring this whole case to its knees.

They had just closed in on their subject, Lestrade had been called, and Mycroft alerted when a low buzzing broke the otherwise deafening silence.  John’s hand flew to his pocket and withdrew his mobile, face going grey as he read the message that illuminated the screen. 

“Mary…” He whispered, holding the phone out for Sherlock to see. Knowing Sherlock would be able to handle a now tied up Moriarty, John took off towards the carpark. How Sherlock had not heard the gunshot baffled him, but as he ran it didn’t seem to matter anymore. John tore through the back of the building, and outside, his feet hitting the cracked pavement hard. At one point he nearly tripped over an old cinder block, but managed to right himself before taking off again. He ran for two blocks, and only stopped when he saw the dark shape of his wife crumpled against the side of a brick building.

“Mary…” John clamped a hand over his mouth and stared, ashen faced at the pool of blood that was unmistakeable in the bright moonlight. 

“Mary?” John choked on his words, and for a moment stood there like a statue, watching the laboured breathing of his pregnant wife.. “Mary, talk to me.” John knelt down and took her hand in his, feeling bile rise in his throat at the thought that his was the most he’d touched her in months. 

“John…” She opened her eyes and removed her hand from her chest, fingers coming away slick and red. “John I'm sorry… I…” Her hand traveled down her stomach, leaving a trail of blood on her green shirt. 

“Mary, what the hell are you doing here.” John didn’t mean to sound angry, but he hated how his wife had not only put herself, but their child at risk. There was a rustle behind him, and a soft intake of breath. John didn’t need to look up to know that Sherlock had followed him.

“Is she.. alive?” Sherlock asked kneeling beside John, who nodded solemnly. “I’ve called for an ambulance.”

“Was following you…” Mary rasped, grasping for both his hands, smearing blood over John’s shirt cuffs. “Thought you two were still…” She grimaced and winced in pain, coughing up a mouthful of blood. “were still on steakout. Got bored, sitting at home. Wanted to help.” 

“You’re pregnant, Mary!” John hissed angrily. “Of course I’m not going to take you on a dangerous mission!”

“So I have to stay home, preparing for our child, alone…” Mary’s voice was weak, but her anger was clear and precise. “while you run off with him…”

“Yes!” John shouted, then cleared his throat in embarrassment. 

“Mary, the shooter.” Sherlock graciously interrupted the argument. “Did you see who shot you?”

“No…” Mary shook her head and coughed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Came from that direction.” She nodded towards the library. “Took off before I knew what had hit me.” She coughed again, splattering blood against the back of her hand.

“John…” She struggled to open her eyes, seeking out her husband in the dark. “John, my darling…” With shaking hands she reached out for him. “Hold me…” John gently pulled her head to his chest and stroked the back of her head, fighting back hot tears. 

“Just a little longer, Mary…” he pleaded, rocking back and forth in his anguish. 

“John, I’m sorry…” She whispered against his collarbone and with that her body went limp.   
  
“Mary?” John groaned, pushing her away and desperately searching for a pulse. “The… the baby. Sherlock…” John, seeming to forget all his years of medical training continued to search for a pulse, calling his wife’s name as if that alone could bring her back. “Need to get her to hospital… the baby… It's too soon…”

“John, there's something you should know… And it won't be easy to hear.” The sounds of an ambulance could be heard in the near distance, and it was all John could do to focus on the words that followed. “I'm afraid that the pregnancy is a fake. A scam… A ploy to get you to stay. A means of keeping you from me.” It broke Sherlock's heart to say these long dreaded words, but he knew John would not wish to be told (and questioned) by the doctors about a fake pregnancy. 

“You mean…” John lifted Mary's shirt, and sure enough, just as Sherlock has suggested, he was greeted with a prosthetic stomach. “This whole time?” John changed from that of a grieving husband and father, to the look of utmost betrayal and hatred. He pulled away from Mary, leaving her body alone on the cold hard ground. 

“Let’s go home.” His voice was icy cold, and without as much as a farewell glance to the woman he’d made his wife, John began to walk away but turned around, his face ashen. Angrily he tore his wedding ring off of his finger, tossing it at the feet of his dead wife. 

“John, the police…” Sherlock began to remind him.

“Then text Lestrade, tell him what happened, and tell him I need to go the fuck home!” John shouted after him without bothering to stop, heading off in the direction of the main road, most likely in search of a cab. 

“John…” Sherlock sighed, but seeing that John was in no mood to be argued with, after having been betrayed by the woman he once loved, he pulled out his phone and called Lestrade, quickly following behind John but not before casting a sad look at the glittering gold ring lying beside Mary in a pool of her blood. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dance with me?” John’s question was barely audible, but it made Sherlock’s heart leap in his chest, his head felt dizzy and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. The song that Sherlock had composed for the sole purpose of teaching John how to dance, began to play. “What’s the matter? Forget how to dance?” John smiled a small, but playful, smile up at him, as he tenderly wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s waist.
> 
> “No… you just… You caught me off guard is all.” Sherlock stammered, quickly remembering himself and remembering how to move his limbs.
> 
> “The great Sherlock Holmes, caught off guard…” John chuckled as they moved around the furniture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient AF, so have another chapter before I make myself to go sleep.

Two months had passed since John had moved back in, and it was now late March. And for two months, Sherlock had left John alone to grieve, knowing that the doctor needed his space. But now, on the day that should have been his daughter's due date, the happiest day of his life, John was left to pick up the shattered pieces of a broken promise. And Sherlock knew that it was the shattered promise of a daughter, a child, that was the real cause of grief for John Watson.

John had spent the day in solitude, only coming downstairs when it was necessary. However, as the evening thickened, Sherlock heard the shuffle of footsteps on the stairs. They were not the footsteps of a man who was on his way to the loo, nor to the kitchen for a piece of toast, they were the embarrassed footsteps of a man who knew he’d been alone for too long. Sherlock smiled softly up at John from where he sat at the table, and watched as John made his way to his chair. John’s eyes picked out a spot on the wall, and refused to budge from it. After allowing this to continue for nearly an hour, Sherlock finally stood up and with a grand flourish drew up his violin and stood in the center of the room.  

“Come now, John! _Come back to me, let me help_ ” He said, adding a cheery air to his voice. “Name a song, anything you wish.”

“Uh…” The blond cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the wall, briefly looking at Sherlock. “That piece you play, when you’re trying to figure out a problem.” John’s eyes flitted over the room quickly before settling on the flickering fire. “Oh…” he breathed. “you made a fire.”

“Mmm…” Sherlock nodded and held the violin up to his chin. _“Where have you been all evening, John….I made the fire ages ago, you were here, sitting right there when started it.”_ Sherlock began to play for John, pouring his heart soul and mind into his craft, adding bits in where he thought it might help lighten the mood. Just as the song was nearing its end, John stood and moved to the table to sit in front of his computer. _“Updating his blog? No, he doesn’t have tea, wouldn’t update his blog without tea.”_

As Sherlock tried to figure out what it was that John was doing, John suddenly looked up with a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. Curious to see where this was going to go, Sherlock finished his song and placed his violin down on his chair. No sooner was the instrument out of his hands, than were John’s hands replacing it. Music from the laptop began to fill the room as John gently spun Sherlock around to face him.

“Dance with me?” John’s question was barely audible, but it made Sherlock’s heart leap in his chest, his head felt dizzy and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. The song that Sherlock had composed for the sole purpose of teaching John how to dance, began to play. “What’s the matter? Forget how to dance?” John smiled a small, but playful, smile up at him, as he tenderly wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s waist.

“No… you just… You caught me off guard is all.” Sherlock stammered, quickly remembering himself and remembering how to move his limbs.

“The great Sherlock Holmes, caught off guard…” John chuckled as they moved around the furniture.

“Only ever by you, John.” Sherlock whispered before he could stop himself. Instead of pulling away like he would have done in the past, John just laughed and smiled up at him. Time both seemed to stand still, and move all too quickly as John lead him around their cluttered lounge. As the song came to an end, John gently pulled away from Sherlock. Despite the screaming in Sherlock’s head to grab John, and never let him go, Sherlock graciously stepped back and flashed John a grin.

“Right, well, I’m shattered. Going to turn in early. G’night, Sherlock, thanks for the dance.” And with that John was gone, heading up the stairs to his room, to his fortress of solitude where Sherlock wasn’t allowed.

Sherlock listened as John’s footsteps died away. He imagined John, changing into nightclothes, turned off his bedside lamp and crawled into bed, where he’d undoubtedly toss and turn for the next three hours, before stealing back downstairs to watch crap telly when he thought Sherlock was either out or asleep. Sherlock told himself that John needed that, needed to be alone, needed to have just one more night of grief.

However the nagging voice of an addict rose in his mind and settled in heart until he could stand it no longer. It was _never_ just one more night, or _one more time._ There would always be another, and another, and another, until John was gone and he was left with only a shell of the man he once loved. Without giving himself time to second guess, or change his mind, Sherlock took the stairs two at a time only stopping to knock on the door.

“John… hear me out. You shouldn’t be alone. I’ve let you alone for too long now. I’m not asking for anything… other than you let me be your friend. Please let me…” Sherlock wasn’t able to finish, the door opened and the face of John Watson appeared in the crack. His eyes were red from crying, a single tear still visible on his cheek. He said nothing, simply opened the door wider and went back to sit on the edge of his bed.

Sherlock stepped into the dark room, closed the door behind him with a soft click and felt his way to the edge of John’s bed. He sat down a few inches away from John and placed a hand on John’s knee. They sat like that in silence so thick that Sherlock could hear John's heart until Sherlock could tell by soft sniffles that John was silently crying.

“John…” Sherlock, not knowing what the perfect thing to say would be, removed his hand from John’s leg and wrapped it around his shoulders. John leaned into him, placing his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and began to sob violently.

“She would have been here by now… If it had all been real… Why would she do that to me? Why, Sherlock! How could she be so cruel…” John began to babble on, finally giving voice to his grief, finally letting Sherlock in.

“I don’t know why, John… I have my suspicions, but that’s for another day.” Sherlock shifted on the bed, laying down, placing his head on the pillow that smelled of John, pulling his faithful friend with him. John curled up on his side, pressing his head against Sherlock’s chest even as Sherlock shifted to wrap his arms around John’s body. They met in the middle, One of Sherlock’s arms raised over the pillow, arching down to curl around John’s back with John’s head resting on his chest just near his shoulder. John was no longer crying, but Sherlock could feel his body tremor from his anguish.

“All my life… I never thought… never thought I’d have that. A family.” John sniffled a little, burrowing his head deeper into Sherlock’s chest. “She took that from me… She lied to me…” John’s hand found its way over Sherlock’s chest and his fingers tightly gripped at Sherlock’s shirt. “Was everything about her a lie?”

“Do you really want an answer, John?” Sherlock asked softly, running his fingers lightly over John’s back.

“No…” John sighed, loosening his grip, but not letting go. “Not tonight. Tonight I just need sleep.”

“Haven’t been sleeping much?” Sherlock asked gently, despite already knowing the answer.

“No.” John shook his head and shifted into a slightly more comfortable position for the both of them.

“Shall I leave you to your rest then?” Sherlock’s fingers danced across John’s back, discovering with no small amount of horror that his jumpers had done a fantastic job of hiding his significant weight loss. Sherlock had known John had lost weight, but somehow he had not realized to this extent how bad it was. John was silent for a moment, only the sound of their combined breathing filled the room. After a moment Sherlock added, “Or I could stay…” He hardly dared hope that John would allow him to stay.

“Could stay…” John yawned. “Might be nice…”

“Alright.” Sherlock fought the urge to kiss the top of John’s head. “Let me up real quick, just going to go change. I’ll be right back, I promise.” John yawned again, rolling over and stretching over half the bed and nodded.

“Hurry back…” He murmured as he fisted his hands under the pillow while smushing his face against it.

“Promise.” Sherlock said again as he slipped off the bed. Moving faster than was probably safe in a dark flat, Sherlock hurried to his room where he changed into a pair of soft green cotton pajama bottoms and a grey tshirt.

As he reentered John's bedroom, Sherlock couldn't help but let his heart swell with a sense of happiness. No matter what the future held for him, he'd always have this one night. The night he spent with John Watson.

John was mostly in the same position as before, only now instead of his face comically smushed into the pillow, he rested on top of it, the lines of worry in his forehead softly ironed out by the lull of sleep.

As Sherlock climbed into the far side of the bed and slipped under the covers. John moved and instantly sought him out. One of his arms draped over Sherlock's chest while his head rested directly over his heart.

“Night, Sh’lock.” John mumbled and he let out a happy sigh as Sherlock's arms wrapped around his.

“Goodnight, John. Sleep easy…” He again fought the urge to kiss the greying head resting on him as he listening to the sounds of John Watson as sleep began to take hold.

It wasn't long before the steady rise and fall of John's chest told Sherlock that the other man was fast asleep, having what appeared to be a perfectly peaceful dream. Despite his best attempts to stay awake and watch over John, the soft steady sound of him breathing soon began to pull at the back of his mind like the lullaby Mycroft used to sing to him.

Sherlock's dreams were bittersweet. Full of images of a life where he and John exchanged sloppy kisses regularly. Where longing touches, soft caresses and heady glances we the norm and Mrs. Hudson finally knew to knock and wait for a response before entering the flat. He awoke once during the night, and spent a full thirty minutes watching John sleep, marveling at the beauty of his peaceful face.


	5. Chapter 5

When morning finally came, it was John who woke first. He remained in bed, unmoving, content to stay safe and warm beneath the covers and in the arms of the one person who'd done everything in his power to protect him. John woke Sherlock up accidentally when he made to burrow under the blankets more, and let out a little laugh when Sherlock's arms clamped down around him in a hug.

“Haven't slept that well in…. Well a while.” Sherlock yawned and suddenly became self conscious of his horrid morning breath.

“Mmm.” John mumbled, stifling a yawn and looking around. “9? Christ I haven't slept this late in ages.” He stretched under the blankets and sighed. “Should shower. Maybe show my face at work…” After Mary's death Sherlock had spoken with John's boss, explaining the situation ensuring that John would not be reprimanded for any missed time.

“Going to work then?” Sherlock asked with a heavy heart. He knew he should be thrilled that John felt well enough to go back to work, but there was a selfish side of him who enjoyed having John home.

“Just for a bit. See about getting my old job back.” John sat up and groaned as he stretched his body. “I'll bring back Thai?”

“Mm yes. I look forward to it.” Sherlock smiled and sat up, watching as John gathered some fresh clothes.

“Need the loo before I shower?” John paused at the door and glanced over.

“No, I'll be fine. Thank you John.” Sherlock smile faded as soon as John was out of sight. John had just acted like they hadn't spent the night in each other's arms. Like he hadn't, literally, cried on his shoulder. He knew he was no expert on human nature, but this baffled him.

“John, I've got to go see Lestrade.” Sherlock called out as he followed John down the stairs, moving on to his bedroom to change.

“Did he call?” John reopened the bathroom door and peaked his head out. “Does he have a case?”

“No, no case. I won't be long.” Sherlock paused and faced John before disappearing into his room. “If you're ready, I'll ask him for a case.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” John nodded, and just like that he retreated into the bathroom and soon Sherlock could hear the taps turn on. The steady stream of water made him regret not taking John up on his offer to use the loo before he showered but that couldn't be helped now. It wouldn't be the first time one of them had used Mrs. Hudson's bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 

 

"So let me get this straight.” Lestrade said, his face twisting up into a smirk. “You and John spent the night in bed… Together.”

“Yes, that is what I just said.” Sherlock huffed, annoyed at Lestrade’s apparent glee. “Will you help me or not?”

“Of course, Sherlock… But first…” Lestrade stood from his chair and moved toward the door. Just when Sherlock thought he was about to close it to provide a small amount of privacy for them Lestrade shouted out, “Oi! Whoever was in on the bet that Sherlock would come to me for dating advice, pay up!” Snickers and defeated groans filled the floor and if looks could kill, the the glare Sherlock gave Lestrade would have made the poor D.I. keel over in an instant.

“Right..” Lestrade closed the door and moved back to his chair, “they can just bring it to me later. So,” he sat down and leaned over his desk, “you need advice… Dating advice. About John?”

“Yes! John woke up and acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened!” Suddenly feeling foolish Sherlock began to fidget with the edges of his scarf.

“Sherlock, listen to me, John is used to his life being out of the ordinary. oddly enough, I think it's what stabilizes him.

“But…” Sherlock nodded slowly, knowing that Lestrade was right. “Does this mean…” He stammered, feeling like a small child asking a harsh parent for a long coveted toy. “That…” He shrugged, “or am I just rebound?” Sherlock's voice was so small and pained that Lestrade walked around the desk and sat next to him.

“Oh, Sherlock. Mary was John's rebound.” When Sherlock shook his head in disbelief, Lestrade placed his hand gently on Sherlock's knee and continued. “Trust me. I was there. I saw it all. He's head over heels for you. Always have been.”

“What a ridiculous saying.” Sherlock scoffed and leaned back in the hard office chair.

“Yes, but all the same it is true. Both of you have been a pair of idiots. For years now.”

“I beg your pardon! Sherlock exclaimed with a scowl, finding himself very put off that someone other than himself could think of John as an idiot.

“Oh, come on, Sherlock. You've booth been pining for each other for years now!” Lestrade scratched at the back of his head and sighed.

“So I should…” Sherlock, at a loss, looked to Lestrade for help.

“Talk to him. And soon, for all our sakes.” Lestrade’s gravelly voice hand and air of sincerity to it.

“Did you bet for or against John and I dating?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.

“For. And there's an awful lot of money in that pot now. After all these years.” Lestrade leaned back in his chair and gave Sherlock a tired look. “Almost thought I’d lost, when John married Mary… But, we all held off, just in case.”

“Case… case..” Sherlock muttered, remembering his second reason for coming here. “We need a case, a good one. Something that will keep us on our toes, lots of running.”

“Oi, I don’t add in the running bit… you two do. Can’t seem to avoid it, in fact.” Lestrade stood and shuffled through a few folders that were scattered over his desk. “This one will do nicely. Bit of a mystery. I haven’t had a chance to look into it yet, what with Mary’s shooter still on the run, but perhaps you can take a stab at it?” Sherlock took the file from Lestrade and flicked through it hungrily.

“Art thieves, perhaps a gang. Museums and galleries across London have reported having art, of lesser value, stolen. Fifteen paintings in the last week, all stolen at night.”

“Yes, this will do nicely.” He leafed through the pages and muttered, as if an after thought, “Might even let John solve this one.”

“If that isn’t true love, I don’t know what is.” Lestrade chuckled softly as he saw Sherlock to the door. Sherlock hadn’t even taken two steps out of Lestrade’s office before people started to stand, envelopes of what could only be money, in their hands.

“Oh, for God’s sake. At least wait until I’ve left!” Sherlock groaned and in blurr hurried out of NSY.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite having every intention to speak with John, as he and Lestrade had disgussed, Sherlock was unable to find the right moment to broach the subject until nearly a week later. The case proved to be an easy one, open and shut, as far as Sherlock was concerned. However, he let John do most of the work, only making “groundbreaking discoveries” when it appeared that John required help.

In the end, however, John managed (by himself, Sherlock noted with pride) to put together the loose ends. The thieves proved to be none other than disgruntled employees, angry about unfair wages for the female working class. They had gotten together, and staged the thefts with the intent of returning the paintings, thus ensuring raises for themselves.

Sherlock, unable to resist a good chase, took over at the end, leading John though a cold windy night near the Thames as they endeavoured to catch the group before they shipped the paintings down river. They, of course, managed to catch the gang and return the paintings safely home and Sherlock was threatened with knighthood, which only put in him in a bad mood, sulking away in the back of the patrol car as Lestrade gave them a ride home.

“My brother is insufferable!” Sherlock muttered, all but stomping his way into the flat. (After having slammed both the car door  and front door.)

“I don’t see what you’re so mad about…” John grumbled, following Sherlock up the stairs and into their flat before Mrs. Hudson saw them. “You’re not the one covered in paint.”

“Yes well…” Sherlock smiled despite himself and turned to take in John’s state. “Pink just isn’t your colour.” He finished with a smirk as he pulled his scarf off and hung it up behind the door.

“So.. you’re in fact saying… You don’t think I look pretty?” John forced a pout on his pink face.

“No, but I do thank you… for saving me from getting covered in that horrid paint.” Shortly after they had jumped on the boat, one of the ladies leaped out from behind some crates and, as a means to slow them down, tossed a pail full of paint in their direction. John, leading the way, had received the worst of the blow, and was now covered head to toe in a neon pink paint.

“Mmm of course…” John grumbled, holding his hands out so he could inspect them in the better light. “Going to go shower… Hope this stuff comes off.”

Sherlock watched as John disappeared into the bathroom. Once he was out of sight the detective sat down in his chair, closed his eyes and began organizing the details of the case in his mind palace. He was disturbed not long after putting the final pieces of the puzzle away by a frustrated shout coming from the bathroom. The string of disgruntled curses that followed caused Sherlock to rise from his chair and walk swiftly to the door. He knocked hurriedly, while calling out, “John? Is everything alright?”

“Can’t get this…” There was a grunt, and the sound of a bottle crashing to the bottom of the tub. “bloody paint off… and it's getting in my eyes, burns like a mother fucker…”

“Do you require assistance?”

“No…” John huffed, then there was another crash and more cursing. “Christ, yes, Sherlock, need help.”

Sherlock wasted no time in opening the door and assessed the situation with no small amount of shock. John was, for lack of a better term, tangled in the shower curtain, one leg up in the air, bent at the knee with both hands pressed against the wall of the shower, holding him in a rather awkward position.

“John… how?” Sherlock tried not to laugh, but the situation was far too comical, the neon paint only making matters worse.

“Started to drop the soap… it slipped… I tried to catch it… tripped on the bottle I dropped earlier…” John huffed and hung his head, letting out a long frustrated breath. “Would you stop staring and help me already?”

“What first?” Sherlock kicked off his shoes and without a second thought hopped into the shower.

“My foot.” John let out a little grunt as his hands, slippery from soap, began sliding down the tiled wall. Without wasting another moment Sherlock knelt beneath John, resting his head on John’s side, allowing John to place his hands on his shoulders for support while he untangled his foot from the plastic curtain.

Once John was free he gave a content little sigh and rinsed his hands of the suds. When he turned around, it wasn’t with the embarrassed look of a man who was now standing naked in front of a friend, but it was with the most comical smirk Sherlock had ever seen.

“Do you always wear your clothes in the shower?”

“What?” Sherlock looked at John with furrowed brows and then he looked down at his still stockinged feet, trailing his way up his body, realizing he was still dressed from head to toe. “I… No, John, I don’t normally wear my clothes in the shower. Do you always trip and smear pink paint on the shower wall?” His voice took on a deep tone as he stepped closer to John, suddenly keenly aware that John was naked and had the most beautiful smile on his face.

“Only when my idiot friend lets me run in front of him.”

“Mmm yes…” Sherlock hummed, placing his hands on John’s shoulders, for no real reason other than he wanted too. “I’ll have a word with him. Wouldn’t want this happening again.”

“No…” John breathed, swallowing hard and holding Sherlock’s gaze with unwavering eyes.

“Turn around, John, and I’ll get your back.” Sherlock reached for the flannel that was tossed crumpled onto a shelf and wet it under the stream of warm water. With firm, but gentle movements, Sherlock began rubbing the paint away. Once ensuring John’s back was clean of paint he turned John around and cupped his chin in one of his pale hands.  With deft fingers he began the tedious task of ridding John’s face of the paint.

“Ahh… there you are.” Sherlock smiled down softly once John’s face was clean. “So handsome.” The series of rapid blinks were the only indication he gave John that his words had any effect on him.

“Sherlock…” John’s tone was one of warning, however he did not back away.

“It’s alright, John. I know now… I know what I want.” Sherlock whispered, running his thumb over John’s face.

“Oh?” John whispered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “And what’s that?” He blinked, and cocked his head slightly to the side.

“You, John.” As he whispered those two small words that held all of his hopes and dreams he leaned forward and pressed his lips to John’s. Instead of pulling away in disgust, or shoving Sherlock aside, John tilted his head up to meet Sherlock’s even as his hands rose up and pressed themselves over Sherlock’s beating heart. Encouraged by John’s response, Sherlock deepened the kiss, softly moaning his pent up desire for the Army Doctor.

“John…” he whispered against John’s mouth, loathe to remove his lips from John’s.

“Sherlock…” John pushed himself up on his tip toes, pressing their lips together again in a kiss that said more than words possibly could. “Wanted this… for so long.” As he quietly murmured the words that set Sherlock’s heart and mind on fire, John’s fingers began to fumble with the buttons of Sherlock’s wet dress shirt.

The kiss became more heated, but rather clumsy as John tore open Sherlock’s shirt and struggled to push the wet garment over Sherlock’s shoulders. It fell to the ground with a wet, satisfying plop just as John’s fingers began exploring their way down Sherlock’s torso. Sherlock let out a tiny gasp as John’s fingers danced over his waistline and began pulling at his belt.

Feeling the need and desire of the moment Sherlock’s fingers left John’s face and joined in the effort to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. John helped steady him as he kicked his trousers off, then gave him a playful smirk as he lowered to a crouch as he pulled off his pants. Sherlock supported himself on John’s shoulders as he stepped out of his pants and laid himself bare in front of John Watson.

“My gorgeous detective…” John muttered as he stood again and pushed Sherlock up against the wall.

“John,” Sherlock muttered, his head swimming from being allowed to be in such close proximity of John Watson. “We should talk…” He needed to tell John everything, how he felt about him, and he needed to tell John about the scars that adorned his back before the doctor had a chance to see them.

“About What, Sherlock….” John muttered, only half pay attention as his mouth claimed one of the freckles on Sherlock’s neck.

“About…” Sherlock panted, his hands running along John’s back. “about… us.” He found himself at a loss for words as John's lips danced across his wet skin.

“Whatever for, Sherlock.” John sighed contently as his lips clamped around Sherlock’s earlobe.

“Because…” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and forced his brain to work. “Lestrade told me we needed to talk. That…” Sherlock let out a moan as John’s teeth scraped over his jaw. “God, John…”

“What did Lestrade tell you…” Sherlock could feel the smirk in John’s lips, he was keenly aware that John was getting great pleasure from they way he was effecting Sherlock.

“That I needed to tell you how I feel.” Sherlock spoke rapidly before the thought ran away from him again.

“And how do you feel… Sherlock…” John whispered, his lips now seemingly dancing across his collarbone.

“Head over heels for you.” Sherlock moaned, his hands finding their way into John’s wet hair and holding on as if for dear life.

“What a ridiculous saying.” John muttered with a laugh as he pulled away slightly and looked up at Sherlock.

“Mm. I thought so myself.” Sherlock laughed and brought his hands out of John’s hair so he could hold John’s face in his hands.

“Now, I highly doubt…” John smirked and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s again, “that Lestrade meant for you to have this conversation with me, naked, in the shower. Help me with the rest of this paint and we’ll go cuddle in bed together.”

“As you wish…” Sherlock stole one last kiss before picking up the flannel again. After a short time it became apparent that the remaining paint would not be easily washed off so Sherlock put the flannel down and turned the taps off. “Come on, John. I know just the way to get the rest off, and I dare say I can make it a rather enjoyable experience for you.” He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off while tossing John a towel. He turned around to towel off his hair and it was only then, at the nearly inaudible gasp from John, that he remembered his scars.

“Sherlock.” John whispered, stepping forward and lightly touching his back.

“I'm fine, John.” Sherlock muttered, turning back around and giving him an indifferent look.

“Clearly you weren't.”

“I do not wish to darken tonight with my story. Would another night be acceptable, John?” Sherlock pleaded with John, begging the shorter man to concede to his wishes, if only for tonight.

After a moment of sharing hard, searching looks, at each other John slowly nodded. Leaning up on his tiptoes he placed both hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips. “When you're ready, Sherlock.”

“Thank you…” Sherlock whispered, returning the kiss and suddenly pulling away with a twinkle in his eyes.

“What are you up too?” John asked when Sherlock withdrew a bottle of mineral oil from the cupboard under the sink.

“You know my methods, John. Go make yourself comfortable on my bed, pull the duvet down though, don’t want to stain it.” Sherlock bent over the side of the tub and began wringing out his drenched clothes, laying them out to dry.

“What about the sheets?” John called in from the open door.

“Leave them, want you to be comfortable!”

Once Sherlock had finished with his clothes he gathered up the flannel, a clean towel,and the mineral oil and joined John in his bedroom. The sight that greeted him made him want to shout for joy and cry at the same time. It was now, as John lay naked on his bed, that Sherlock allowed himself the luxury of admiring his body.   
  
The skin protected from the sun by his clothes was pale, a dark spidery starburst scar trailed over the back of John's left shoulder. And John's arse could not have been more perfect, his spine curving out into the most glorious backside Sherlock had ever seen.   
  
"Enjoying the view?" John murmured up at him playfully.   
  
"Yes. Very much so." Sherlock admitted, feeling his cock twitch most unexpectedly. Taking in a deep breath Sherlock stepped over to the bed, deposited his items beside John and moved into the bed. He knelt over John, slowly at first, but when he met no opposition he knelt over him just above his thighs.

“Roll over, John.” As he spoke he picked up the flannel and mineral oil, saturating the damp flannel in the oil. Without hesitation John rolled over, facing Sherlock, and smiled up at the detective. “This should do the trick…” Sherlock murmured as he began rubbing the flannel over a splotch on John’s chest, from where the paint had soaked through his shirt, tinting his skin pink.

Sherlock worked slowly and with care, aware of John’s eyes on him. Every once in awhile Sherlock would glance up, and meet John’s gaze. But he’d have to look away quickly as a hot blush covered his face, momentarily causing him for forget his task at hand.

“Sherlock…” John said, after he’d seen Sherlock blush for the fourth time. “I think you’ve gotten most of it…” He placed his hand over Sherlock’s and smiled up at the man, trying not to grin as even Sherlock’s ears grew red.

“I’m… not done.” Sherlock stammered, lifting his weight off of John’s legs. “Turn back around. Please.”

“Well, seeing as you’ve said please.” John stifled a little yawn, flashed Sherlock a smile and with a small amount of effort he rolled over and settled in on his stomach. Tossing the flannel aside, Sherlock immediately set to work with what he’d later admit was his plan all along. It was with a grunt, and a satisfied exhale of breath that John realized what Sherlock was up too as Sherlock’s fingers began massaging themselves into his shoulders. As Sherlock worked, John’s moans grew from soft please little moans to the sounds of a man receiving the most pleasure he’d had in months, if not years.

“John…” Sherlock stooped low, feeling his naked body press against John’s, brushing his lips between John's shoulder blades. “If you get much louder, Mrs. Hudson is going to come and see if one of us is ill.” He shifted and softly kissed John’s earlobe with a smiled. “Don’t stop, however… I find your noises to be rather inspiring.”

“Mmm..” John said, wiggling his arse against Sherlock’s hardening prick. “I can tell, however I wouldn't use the word inspiring.”

“Stop wiggling and relax, John.” Sherlock sat back up and continued kneading his fingers into John's back, working out knots in such a way that John was left, quite literally, drooling into his pillow.

“It's funny, Sherlock…” John muttered, voice muffled from the pillow, as Sherlock's hands roamed lower down his back with the occasional brush against his arse.

“What is?” Sherlock was too busy focusing on the task at hand to deduce what was going on in

John’s mind, and he found he was more than okay with that.

“How perfectly normal this feels…” John let out a groan as his spine let out a series of pops and cracks. “Just… Mmm God that feels great… Just being like this, naked, with you.”

“You're not uncomfortable then?” Sherlock gave a little smile, feeling relief wash away tension he didn't even know was there.

“God no.” John shook his head and sighed.

“Not at all?” Sherlock wondered aloud even as he realized how perfectly comfortable he was, sitting astride John as he gave the Doctor the massage of his lifetime.

“Mmh-mm” John shook his head and tilted it so he could look up at Sherlock. “That feels amazing, Sherlock. Absolutely amazing.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock hummed happily at John's praise, but before he was able to continue John let out a sigh.

“Sherlock, come here.” John rolled to his side and patted the pillow.

“I'm not finished.” Sherlock blinked in confusion.

"Just..." John smiled patiently waiting for Sherlock's brain to catch up. "Come here..." He patted the pillow again and gave Sherlock an expectant look.   
  
Still confused Sherlock slowly placed the bottle of mineral oil on the nightstand and wiped his hands on one of the towels before lowering himself stiffly to the bed beside John, unsure what was expected of him.   
  
"Just relax. I won't bite." John scooted forward and draped an arm over Sherlock's hip, his fingertips brushing his arse most deliberately.   
  
"Of course you won't bite. Why would I think you'd bite. That is utter nonse... Mmmmfff." Sherlock was cut off when John pressed their lips together in a hungry kiss that was all tongue and flying hands.   
  
"You'd be surprised, Sherlock..." John panted when he finally pulled away for breath. "Biting can be quite... Sexy." As if to prove such a bold claim John gently bit down on Sherlock's neck, laughing when the detective both gasped and went limp all at the same time.

“John…” Sherlock blushed a deep red and snaked his arms around John’s body, shuddering as John’s prick grazed against his. “I’m… I’m sorry…” he made to pull away, embarrassed at the reaction his transport had at the slightest touch from John.

“No… don’t.” John tightened his grip on Sherlock’s hips and pulled their bodies close. “Don’t back away. It’s only natural…” John softly chuckled, stroking Sherlock’s face with his hand.

“I’ve just never… I mean to say… this is.. well, if you’ll have me, its my first time.” Sherlock stammered over his words, oblivious to the fact that John’s soft chuckles had ceased, replaced with a look of pure love and wonder.

“Hey…” John kissed Sherlock’s nose and ran a hand soothingly through his curls. “Of course I’ll have you. But only when you’re ready.” he kissed Sherlock’s nose again, letting out a content sigh as Sherlock burrowed into his chest with gasp.

“John.” Sherlock burrowed impossibly closer and let out a small shaky breath. “It's not that I don't…” He paused a moment as if waiting for John to push away in disgust or mutter his inpatients. But when John kissed the top of his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and rapidly continued. “Because I do, so very much. More than I've ever wanted anything.” He paused for breath and let out a tiny, desperate keen when John tightened his arms around him.

“Whenever you're ready, Sherlock.” John's hand held him tight, grounding him, one splayed firmly over his back while the other played gently in his curls. Sherlock couldn't believe his luck, not only did John Watson want him, but he was willing to wait for him, willing to be patient.

“However not yet. Not like this. Not until we are married. Not until you are mine.. Fully.” Sherlock continued, baring his soul to his blogger, while hiding his blushing face in the crook of John's arm.

“Well…” John hummed happily, peppering the top of his head with soothing kisses. “When shall we elope?”

 _“Ugh, why don't you two elope for god's sake!”_ Sherlock smiled into John's arm as he remembered the Victorian version of John, who was still sitting next to him smoking in their parlor, tucked away in his mind palace, waiting for his next dark day.

“Soon, if you're offering.” Sherlock's voice was small, hardly above a whisper and he struggled to hold back the tears that were now burning his eyes.

“Oh you ridiculous man, of course I'm offering.. John said softly, while cupping his hand around Sherlock's chin. “But on one condition.” Sherlock let John guide his face until he was staring directly into John's eyes. “Kiss me, you mad man.”

Sherlock blushed, but he felt a calming peace rush over him as his lips met John's. As he kissed the man he was to marry. The man, and only person (other than his brother) who had stood by him through everything.  

“Is tomorrow too soon?” John whispered, his fingers drawing patterns on his back while his toes flexed against Sherlock's calf.

“Tomorrow?” Sherlock blinked in surprise wondering if he'd heard correctly. “You did say tomorrow?”

“Of course I said tomorrow.” John wiggled his nose against Sherlock's and smiled playfully. “Could go to Paris… Spend the weekend…” He kissed Sherlock gently and then added, “Would be far enough away that your brother wouldn't have time to stick his nose into our affairs.”

“Tomorrow…” Sherlock whispered, feeling a tear slip down the side of his face. “Oh, John.” Sherlock sunk his fingers into John's hair and hummed happily. “I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it… I just,” Sherlock sniffed and cuddled close to John again. “didn’t know how.”

“I know, Sherlock. Neither of us did.” John let Sherlock nuzzle close, letting him feel his arms around him, letting him know he was loved and safe. “I love you, Sherlock… So bloody much.”

“So… Paris?” Sherlock murmured into John’s embrace.

“If you want.” John whispered softly.

“Could go to Angelo’s.”

“For dinner? It’s a bit late, Sherlock.”

“No…” Sherlock pulled away from John, sitting up as his brain began to process in a way that was more familiar to him. “To get married. Angelo is an Officiant, he can marry us. We’ll make Mrs. Hudson come, but we won’t tell her why. Oh, John, this will be brilliant.”

“Angelo’s?” A small smiled played across John’s lips as he sat up and rested his head on Sherlock’s chest. “Get married where we had our first meal?”

“Well, I didn’t eat.”

“You never eat.”

“I do sometimes.” Sherlock chuckled, still feeling overly full from the chips NSY had given them earlier.

“Okay, so Angelo’s.” John agreed, shifting on the bed so he could hook his toe under the duvet and pulling it up so he could cover himself and Sherlock with it.

“How will we get Mrs. Hudson out?”  

“That’s the easy part. I’ve been promising her you'd take her out to lunch for _ages_.”

“You promised her… Wait, you make that sound like there is a bit of a problem.” John groaned as he curled up on his side, half sitting up, half resting on Sherlock.

“Nothing that can’t be solved, John.” Sherlock kissed John’s head and wrapped his arms around him. “Go to sleep, I’ll have it all figured out by morning. Just let me up for a mo, need my mobile.” Sherlock hugged John tight, not wishing to let his blogger go, not even for an instant.

“Use mine…” John nodded towards the nightstand, where sure enough his mobile sat next to his watch. Sherlock didn’t even remember John taking his watch off.

“For god’s sake. When did you take your watch off…”

“After the shower, before you came in here.” John shrugged nonchalantly and yawned.

“Christ you distract me…” He laughed as he reached for John’s mobile and began sending out a series of texts at a rapid pace as John settled in for the night.

“Sherlock?” John murmured into his chest some time later, voice thick with sleep.

“Mmm?” Sherlock looked up from the bright screen of his mobile and smiled at John’s sleepy face.

“Seems to me… that case was a bit easy for you.”

“Open and shut. Had it solved before I left NSY.” Sherlock agreed without thinking.

“I knew it.” John chuckled softly, his laughter ringing in Sherlock’s ears, sending a warm fuzzy feeling coursing down Sherlock’s spine. “You let me solve it. Didn’t you.”

“Nonsense.” Sherlock blinked and gave John a confused look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.” John laughed and pulled the duvet up over his shoulders.

“Couldn’t let all that… that power go to your head John. I’d be out of a job. People would want the nice one solving their cases.”

“Mmm I am the nice one.” John whispered, already nearly asleep.

“I love you, John.” Sherlock whispered back, amazed that he was allowed to say that. Amazed that he was allowed to hold John, who was still naked, while he fell asleep.

“Mmmm.” John hummed, rubbing his face against Sherlock’s chest. “Love you.”

Sherlock placed the phone down for a moment, content enough with watching John fall asleep, happy knowing that no matter what tomorrow brought them, they would have this moment. As he watched John sleep, his chest rising and falling gracefully, every now and then a happy humming noise would escape his lips as he burrowed closer to him, Sherlock was stuck by a sudden realization. John Watson was all that mattered now. Not the work, not drugs, not his next cure for boredom. Just John Watson, always John, John kept him right. Growing tired, he picked up John’s mobile again, finalized a few plans, and then sent his brother a text.

**_John and I are getting married tomorrow. Angelo’s. Noon. I would appreciate your presence as my best man. -SH_ **

With that Sherlock turned off John’s mobile and as he lowered himself slowly onto the bed John let out the most adorable sigh Sherlock had ever heard as he wrapped himself around Sherlock’s body.

 _“Going to call you a cuddle octopus…”_ Sherlock chuckled as he got comfortable, holding John as tight as he dared without waking him up. Sherlock tried to stay up a bit longer, wanting to take in as much of this first night with John. But soon the sound of John’s steady breathing called to him, lulling him into a deep and peaceful sleep like he’d never had before. However, had Sherlock known of the series of texts that were taking place during his slumber, he surely wouldn't have slept soundly. Within an hour, the news had spread from Mycroft, to Lestrade, who in turn told Molly, who likewise told Mrs. Hudson.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock woke up the next morning with a smile on his face and warmth in his heart. John was wrapped around him, one arm splayed over his chest and one leg hooked over both of his his, holding onto him tight. Sherlock absentmindedly ran his fingers through John's sleep mussed hair, unaware of happy humming noises vibrating in his chest. 

“I'm going to marry you today, John.” He whispered quietly as his hands danced lightly along John's side. 

“Mm.. S’nice.” John murmured, stirring and letting out a soft yawn. When Sherlock stilled and let out a deep chuckle John wiggled and let out a groan. “Don't stop. Felt nice.”

“Well, aren't you demanding in the morning. Is this what I'm getting myself into? Hmm?” Sherlock chuckled again and continued sliding his fingers along John's warm skin. 

“Yes, now shut up and don't stop.” John bit his lip to stifle a giggle and nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's neck. 

“But I must, or we won't be able to get married today.” Sherlock bent down and pressed a wet kiss to John's forehead. “Now let me up.” Despite his grumbling John slowly peeled himself off of Sherlock while muttering something about him being “A pain in my bloody arse.” as Sherlock climbed off the bed.

“John, I'll need you to get Mrs. Hudson to Angelo's for 12 sharp. Please do not be late.” Sherlock began to dash about the room, tearing clothes out of his wardrobe, even as John sat up to watch. “I have to go out, need to finalize a few plans. I've told my brother, no doubt he’ll come find me and try to talk me out of,” Sherlock held himself straight and spoke in his best impression of his brother. “This madness.” 

“Yes, do come to your senses, brother mine. This is no time to joke about.” John joined in on the mocking.

“Right…” Sherlock chuckled finished dressing and dashed over to the side of the bed, taking John's head in both his hands and kissing his forehead. “I expect to be busy until noon finalizing things.”

“Oi!” John called after him as he made to move towards the door, grabbing his wrist and pulling him close. “Not without a proper kiss.” Sherlock melted into John's touch as John pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. Just before the kiss became heated Sherlock pulled away and stroked his hand over John's cheek.

“I'll see you in a few hours, John.” Sherlock whispered, stealing one more kiss before tearing out of the room lest he get lured into spending the whole morning in bed with John. 

“Mm, see you later, luv.” John's words echoed throughout his heart and mind as he dashed down the stairs, and out into the cold March air as he waited for a cab.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting Mrs. Hudson out of the flat had been easier than John thought. When she came up to pour his morning tea, he'd mentioned going to Angelo’s for lunch, and asked if she would like to accompany him. 

“Will Sherlock be joining us?” She gave John a sly smile, and for a moment John wondered if she knew.

“No.” John shook his head and focused on the paper in his hands. “Sherlock went off first thing. No idea where he went.”

The hours ticked by and it seemed to take an especially long time for 11:30 to the get there. At 11:40 John dressed himself in his nicest button up, his maroon sweater vest and combed his hair before knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door. The day was clear, and the sun was warm, so when John offered they walk the short distance Mrs. Hudson readily agreed. 

“So nice of you, John,” she smiled at him, while taking his elbow. “taking me out. When Sherlock promised you'd take me, I half thought he would forget to tell you.” John laughed and patted her gloved hand. 

“He did forget. Only told me this morning before he left.”

“Always dashing about, that one.” She smiled fondly, as if he were her own son and let out a quiet laugh. “If only he'd stay out of trouble this time…”

“I'm sure he will.” John mused, “I'll see that he does.”

“Good. That's good.” Mrs. Hudson nodded, and then furrowed her brows. “Oh? What's going on up here?” 

John followed her gaze, and just ahead, outside of Angelo's, the sidewalk was buzzing with commotion. John hid his smile and shook his head, wondering what the hell Sherlock had been up too. 

“Let's go find out.” As they neared, John saw no fewer than four men each carrying armfuls of flowers. “What the hell did he do…” He muttered, letting go of Mrs. Hudson’s arm and stepping into the restaurant. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light the first thing they settled  on was Sherlock, standing in the middle of the room in a charcoal suit, actually letting his brother straighten his bow tie. And oh, his hair, John stopped and stared at Sherlock’s hair for a full 30 seconds. It was slicked back, neat and trimmed, gone were the curls, leaving behind what appeared to be a very prim and proper young man. 

“John!” Sherlock spun around when Mycroft arched an eyebrow at him. “You're early!”

“Only by,” John checked his watch, “two minutes.” 

“Good, go put your suit on.” Sherlock turned back around, allowing Mycroft to finish. 

“I didn't bri…”

“There is one in the men's bathroom, John. Do catch up.” Sherlock called over his shoulder with a wink.

John maneuvered his way though the restaurant, past the men bustling about with flowers, past the waiters and waitresses rushing to and fro, past Angelo who was peeking out of the kitchen with a smile, and into the loo where, sure enough, there was a matching suit hanging up. He changed quickly, and rejoined Sherlock just in time to see a car pull up outside. Before he had time to as Sherlock what was going on, Lestrade and Molly stepped out of the car in what appeared to be their Sunday best.

“Sherlock…” John turned to look at the detective, who was glaring at his brother.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock began, trying his hardest to sound annoyed, “thought my telling him we were getting married must of course mean I was using again. So, sticking his rather large nose where it didn’t belong, he told Lestrade, who in turn told Molly, and I’m quite sure it was Molly who told Mrs. Hudson.” 

“Wait, you knew?” John turned and blinked in disbelief at their landlady.    
  
“Sorry dear, yes. I knew.” She smiled, and dabbed at her eyes with a white linen handkerchief.  

“If you would take her coat, John,” Sherlock continued, “I’m sure we’ll find that underneath that rather hideous fur coat, we’ll find that Mrs. Hudson is in fact wearing a new dress.” Sure enough, when John took Mrs. Hudson’s coat, she grinned up at them and shrugged.

“Went shopping this morning.” 

“Is that why my tea was late?” John mused aloud.

“Not your housekeeper dear, you have a kettle. I bought it for you for Christmas.” Mrs. Hudson tutted, going to the door to help Molly in. It wasn’t long before the room was to loud and to hot for John, what with it being so full of people.

“Why is the room spinning so fast?” John wondered, suddenly feeling Sherlock’s arms around him as the detective look at him with concern.

“The room isn’t spinning, John.” Sherlock murmured, sitting John down on a chair off in the corner. “Are you quite well?”

“Mmmm, just need the room to stop spinning so fast.” John murmured, trying to brush Sherlock off so he could stand up again. 

“John, just, sit. Here,” Sherlock pressed a glass of water into John’s hands and brushed his hair off of his forehead. “drink this.”

“Sherlock,” John murmured, holding Sherlock’s gaze as the detective crouched in front of him. “you did all this for me?” John looked around the room, at the flowers hanging from the ceiling, the fairy lights twinkling around them,  the wooden archway by the window, where their table usually was, and he felt himself begin to cry.

“Of course, John.”  Sherlock smiled softly, placing his hands on John’s knees. “Just for you.” He added in a whisper. 

“And…” Jon swallowed down a mouthful of water, looking up at the small group of friends they considered family. “everyone's here.”

“I tried calling Harry.” Sherlock gave John an apologetic look and with a sigh stood back up, offering John a hand up.

“Hmmff.” John shook his head, still angry at his sister for not calling him after the fiasco with Mary and the baby. 

“If you two are ready.” Mycroft cut in, motioning for the men who had been setting up to leave with a flick of his wrist. When Sherlock and John both nodded, now standing hand in hand grinning at each other like teenagers in love Mycroft, despite his smile, huffed. “Then we’ll begin.”

The following events were a blur to Sherlock. One moment he was being pushed towards the arch by his brother, the next John was taking his hand, and just after that Angelo was standing behind them, his back to the window facing the small room with the smile of a proud father. With a booming voice, that somehow filled the room with warmth and love, Angelo spoke.

“Today is a celebration, a celebration of love, of friendship,” he looked up at the people gathered together around John and Sherlock. “of family. All of us here, have our own stories, our own stories of how we met, and how we fell in love with each other, and how we fell in love with these two.” He nodded towards John and Sherlock, offering Sherlock the fondest of smiles. “This man here got me off a murder charge, saved my skin, he did.” he cleared his throat and continued, “And it's these two that bring us here today, to witness them,  _ finally _ ” he muttered loud enough for all to hear, “profess their forevers to each other.” 

Mrs. Hudson could be heard sniffling in the background, and when Sherlock looked up, he saw that she was sniffling into Mycroft’s chest, his brother’s arm around the lady that had been like a mother to him for all these years. He turned back to look at John, not daring to look at Lestrade or Molly, fearing that if he saw one more wet eye he’d lose it himself. 

“These two met by chance, fell in love by chance, but now they are making a choice. You both are choosing each other. You’ve chosen to be with someone who enhances you, makes you think,” he looked at Sherlock with a knowing look, “ and who makes your every day brighter.” With that he looked at John, remembering the day John had left his cane in the very spot he was now standing on.

“You’re about to make promises to each other that you intend to keep. And,” Angelo chuckled, breaking his serious demeanor for a moment, “one I believe, we’ll all make sure you keep. So, without making you boys wait any longer… Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson as your favorite person, to laugh with, to go off on mad adventures with, to support through the tough moments, to grow old with, and to love until the day you die?”

Sherlock squeezed John’s hands tight, swallowing a lump in his throat, and nodding slightly before remembering he was supposed to speak.

“Yes, I do.” He gave John a small crooked smile, only one side of his face showing emotion as he fought back tears. John smiled back, returning the hand squeeze as he waited for Angelo to direct the question at him.

“John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes as your favorite person, to laugh with, to go off on mad adventures with, to support through the tough moments, to grow old with, and to love until the day you die?”

“Oh god yes.” John breathed, fighting the urge to surge forward and press his lips against Sherlock’s right then and there.

“Do we have rings?” Angelo looked around the room, his eyes settling on Mycroft when the elder Holmes cleared his throat. 

“Here.” Mycroft reached into his breast pocket and withdrew two silver rings, each inscribed with the infinity symbol. “I hope they are to your liking, brother mine.” he said, as he pressed the rings into Sherlock’s hands. 

“Mycroft…” Sherlock breathed, casting his brother a look that said more than just “Thank you.” as he and John placed the rings on each other’s fingers.

“As you look at these rings over the years, I hope you’ll both remember the promises you’ve made today. Today you’ve created something invaluable, you’ve created a family, and just as I know you’ll protect these rings, I’m confident that you’ll protect each other.” Angelo continued, with a twinkle in his eye, and a little head nod to his waitstaff. “So, to wrap this up, before we all sit down to a delicious dinner, I am proud to announce these two idiots finally married. John, Sherlock,” as Angelo said their names, glasses filled with champagne were pressed into their hands. “let’s have a toast to you and your happiness.”

Everyone raised their glasses, though Mycroft had to steady Mrs. Hudson’s as their landlady was too busy blubbering about, “how perfect,” and “finally.” With glasses pressed to their lips, John and Sherlock watched each other over the brims, sharing a look that spoke of the love they had for each other. The cool liquid rushed down Sherlock's throat, and he imagined he could feel it warming his insides as it coursed through him. Without waiting for Angelo to pronounce  them husbands, Sherlock (finding himself unable to wait any longer) surged forward. He took John's head in his free hand and pressed their lips together with bruising force as the silence in the room was filled with applauds, and one very awkward cat call. (Lestrade.)

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Angelo chuckled, peering around the kissing couple. “I give you, finally, Doctor and Mr. Watson-Holmes.”

With a clap of Angelo’s hands, tables were brought out and placed in the room again, foods and wines were brought out and everyone was directed to a seat by men in black tuxedos. John and Sherlock were made to stand exactly where they were as their table was brought to them. As they sat Sherlock reached for John's hand over the table and leaned close, speaking as he pressed wet kisses to the corner of John's mouth. 

“It's not Paris.” 

“No.” John agreed, looking around the room at their self made family. “It's even better.” He smiled at Sherlock, running his index finger over the silver ring on Sherlock's hand before pulling Sherlock's hand to his mouth to kiss both the ring and Sherlock's ring finger. “The rings are perfect…” He murmured quietly, oblivious to the four sets of eyes watching him. 

“Mmm…” Sherlock hummed, casting a look to his brother who, very uncharacteristically winked at him. “I didn't know about them. It was all Mycroft.”

The rest of the afternoon was filled with food, laughter, wine, dancing, and more love than John or Sherlock could have ever asked for. At one point Mycroft was even spotted dancing with Mrs. Hudson. John and Sherlock were never apart for long, most of the time they could be found in each other's arms, dancing the afternoon away. They danced until the sun went down, and the only light was the candles on the table and the twinkling fairy lights above them. As afternoon became evening Mycroft tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and cleared his throat. 

“Little brother, it's time for you to go.”

“Go? Go where?” Sherlock murmured into John's shoulder, refusing to move away from his husband. 

“Paris, of course.” Mycroft smiled, pulling an envelope with two plane tickets out of his pocket even as a black car pulled up outside. “All expense paid three day holiday to the city of love. Though I highly doubt you two will be doing much sightseeing.” Mycroft raised his eyebrows in a knowing way and continued, “Bags are packed, you'll find them in the boot. No need to deal with the airport, as I've given you use of my private jet.”

“Thank you, Mycroft. Really, thank you.” John held his hand out, clasping it around Mycroft’s in a firm shake. 

“Take care of him, John.” Mycroft smile this time, passing the role of Sherlock's protector on, this time under better circumstances.

“Yeah, I will.” John put his arm around Sherlock's waist and kissed his cheek. “Read, luv?” 

“Mm, ready.” Sherlock nodded, leaning into John's embrace. They separated long enough to put their coats on, said their goodbyes and soon were alone in the back of the car. As the car drove off, John twisted in his seat and pressed his torso against Sherlock's side. 

“Married…” He whispered, kissing just below Sherlock's ear, smiling as Sherlock hummed in pleasure. 

“Married.” Sherlock repeated, twisting to wrap his arms around his husband. 

“So, uh..” John gently cleared his throat, still placing wet kisses to Sherlock's neck. “Watson-Holmes?”

“Mmm…” Sherlock smiled, wrapping a hand around the nape of John's neck while stretching his neck out for John. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“It does.” John kissed his way along Sherlock neck, scraping his teeth over his jaw, capturing the small smile that played on Sherlock's lips with a kiss. 

“Uh, driver?” John called out, still shamelessly kissing Sherlock's lips, his fingers finding their way into Sherlock's new haircut. “Need to stop off… Before the airport.”

“Why?” Sherlock mumbled against John's lips. 

“Because, Sherlock,” John smirked, catching the driver's eye. “I highly doubt your brother though to pack us lube.” Both Sherlock and the driver blushed scarlet red, but it wasn't long until they were pulled up in front of the next store.

“Be right back, luv.” John stole another kiss before slipping out of the car on his errand. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** So, most of this is NOT Beta'd. I apologize for the mistakes my ipad is likely going to make. I've been writing most of this on the go, in my free time on my ipad. IF anyone is interested in beta'ing for me, leave me a comment!****

As the plane taxied down the runway John watched Sherlock with keen eyes. No sooner were they in the air did John have his seatbelt off and was by Sherlock's side, placing his hand on Sherlock's thigh.

“John, the Captain hasn't given us the all clear to unbuckle.” Sherlock glanced at John's hand, suddenly feeling nervous, knowing full well what John's intentions were.

“Since when have you followed the rules?” Join whispered directly into Sherlock's ear, softly sucking on Sherlock's earlobe. “Just...relax. I've already told the pilot not to disturb us, and we won't be in the air long…” John moved his hand up Sherlock's leg, letting his fingers brush against Sherlock's groin. "Promise you'll enjoy this..."

“John…” Sherlock moaned, involuntarily rocking his hips into John's palm. 

“I've got you, Sherlock. I'll take good care of you. Promise.” John kissed his cheek before settling down on his knees by Sherlock's feet. Sherlock watched with hooded eyes as John’s fingers expertly opened his trousers, pushed them and his pants down to mid thigh and slowly wrapped around his already half hard prick. 

“Gorgeous man…” John murmured happily, pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock's cock, letting out a happy laugh as Sherlock moaned upon contact. “If you can't handle a kiss, Sherlock, then how will you handle this?” John’s head dipped down and his lips wrapped around the tip of Sherlock’s cock, causing Sherlock to grip the chair as a wave of hot pleasure coursed through his body. 

“John!” He gripped the chair harder as John's head began to move. He moved slowly, up and down, slicking up the length of Sherlock's prick with his own saliva. No sooner had Sherlock grown used to the feeling did John add in his tongue, sending Sherlock into a frenzy of pleasure. As Sherlock's moans quickly turned into high pitched whines and desperate keens, John soothed his hands up and down Sherlock's thighs, pulling of with a wet pop. 

“Shhh… I've got you.” Despite hushing Sherlock, John loved the noises, loved knowing he was the only one to bring Sherlock such pleasure. He placed a wet kiss to the inner part of Sherlock's thigh and smiled up at the trembling detective. 

“Don't,” Sherlock breathed, covering John's hands with his own, “don't stop.  Want you…” He shuddered as John took him back in his mouth with a small laugh. “Want, need to be inside you.” Sherlock let out a long baritone moan as John flicked his tongue around his head. 

John uttered a pleased hum, and nearly laughed aloud as Sherlock nearly jumped out of the chair with a loud gasp. With a knowing smirk John hollowed his cheeks while nearly pulling off entirely  before surging back down with a deep hum. This, as John suspected, sent Sherlock over the edge with a loud shout. John looked up and watched the detective's face as Sherlock came undone in his mouth, watching as Sherlock's eyes squeezed shut as ecstasy washed over him and he spent deep down his throat. 

“John…” Sherlock slumped forward in his chair, thoroughly exhausted from his orgasm, and slung his arms lazy around John's shoulders before capturing John's mouth in a series of sloppy, lazy kisses. After nearly a dozen kisses he pulled away with a curious look on his face. “Is that what I taste like?” 

“Mmm.” John nodded, rising off his knees and sitting next to his husband, showering him with kisses and affectionate touches, spending long moments with his fingers playing at the nape of Sherlock's neck.

“And…” Sherlock murmured, forcing his post orgasmic mind to focus. “you like it?”

“Love it.” John smiled patiently at him, stealing another kiss while running his hands through Sherlock's hair. 

“Love you.” Sherlock whispered while fixing his trousers before allowing sleep to take hold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** So, most of this is NOT Beta'd. I apologize for the mistakes my ipad is likely going to make. I've been writing most of this on the go, in my free time on my ipad. IF anyone is interested in beta'ing for me, leave me a comment!****


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sod the bags…” He growled, letting the corners of his lips twitch up into a grin before leaning close and sucking a spot on Sherlock's neck. (John felt as if he'd waited his a lifetime to be allowed to suck on that one incredibly, annoyingly, tempting freckle of the right side of Sherlock's neck.) “Tonight’s our wedding night, and I plan to take full advantage of it. Bedroom, Sherlock. Now.”
> 
> They moved clumsily as one through the suite, somehow managing not to trip over their bags as they kissed their way to the bedroom, shedding their clothes as they went. John gently pushed, a now naked, Sherlock, until his calves were flush with the bed, and then with one strong shove sent the Detective careening back onto the bed with a laugh.
> 
> “Are you going to fuck me now, Doctor?” Sherlock asked with hooded eyes, as he shimmied up the bed until his head was resting on the pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for someone who'd be willing to Beta for me. For this, and other fics if you are willing!

The door to their hotel room  was hardly shut before Sherlock was on John, pushing him against the wall with enough force that it caused John to drop their bags. As they fell to the floor with no small amount of noise Sherlock rubbed his nose along John's neck, breathing hard, already impossibly aroused. 

“Do it again.” He whispered, peppering John's neck and face with a frenzy of needy kisses. “John, do it again. I…” He turned beet red upon realizing that he was begging while rubbing his cockstand against John's thigh, on top of making small whining noises. 

“It's alright,” John smiled reassuringly, running his hand along Sherlock's back. “I'm here…” He tilted his head up, softly returning Sherlock's kisses, eventually calming his husband down enough to push him back a few steps. “Let's put our bags…” John was about to suggest they settle in, get comfortable and perhaps call down for a bottle of wine when he suddenly grinned and in a flash had their positions reversed, pinning Sherlock to the wall. 

“Sod the bags…” He growled, letting the corners of his lips twitch up into a grin before leaning close and sucking a spot on Sherlock's neck. (John felt as if he'd waited his a lifetime to be allowed to suck on that one incredibly, annoyingly, tempting freckle of the right side of Sherlock's neck.) “Tonight’s our wedding night, and I plan to take full advantage of it. Bedroom, Sherlock. Now.”

They moved clumsily as one through the suite, somehow managing not to trip over their bags as they kissed their way to the bedroom, shedding their clothes as they went. John gently pushed, a now naked, Sherlock, until his calves were flush with the bed, and then with one strong shove sent the Detective careening back onto the bed with a laugh.

“Are you going to fuck me now, Doctor?” Sherlock asked with hooded eyes, as he shimmied up the bed until his head was resting on the pillows. 

“Oh, Sherlock…” John shook his head and spoke softly, feeling his heart rise into his chest. “No,” he pulled off his last remaining sock and crawled onto the bed over Sherlock, placing his forehead on Sherlock's  sternum. “I'm going to make love to you.” With a kiss to Sherlock's chest John lifted his head and smiled. “For our first time… Wouldn't fuck you…” he sat astride Sherlock's hips and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. “I would never use you, never hurt you…”

“Is there a difference?” Sherlock blinked, suddenly curious. “Between…” he swallowed hard and leaned into John's hand, “fucking and making love?”

“Mmm… There is.” John kissed a line down Sherlock's torso, stopping just above his navel. Sherlock shivered against John's touch and let out a low breathy moan as John's hands followed in the path his lips had traversed. 

“Did you know..” Sherlock began and to pant as John's mouth moved further south at a painfully slow pace. “That…” he panted again, this time biting his lip and gyrated his hips. “kissing releases dopamine…” Sherlock panted again, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to focus. “creating a drug like..”

“Shhh.” John moved back over Sherlock and quieted him with a hard kiss. “Stop…” he nipped hard at Sherlock's bottom lip. “thinking.” Sherlock pushed his head up, forcing their lips into a tight kiss, flicking his tongue tentatively over John's bottom lip. 

“Mmm… Better.” John moaned, sliding his hands over Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock purred against John's praise and pressed his tongue, more confidently, against John's mouth. 

“Need…” John muttered as Sherlock's hands came up and grabbed his ass. 

“Lube.” Sherlock murmured, “your coat pocket, on the floor. By our bags.”

“Stay here, darling.” John tore himself from Sherlock's arms, leaving the room only to return a moment later with the tube of lube. As he stepped back into the bedroom he let out a low sigh. Sherlock was sprawled out on the bed, one hand lazily wrapped around his cock while he traced circles around one of his nipples with the other. 

“Christ, you are shameless.” John laughed as he climbed back on the bed. He settled on his side, content for now to watch his husband please himself. 

“John…” Sherlock moaned, twisting his wrist slowly around his cock. “Touch me.”

“Don't have to ask me twice.” John dragged a hand up over Sherlock's chest tracing his index finger over Sherlock's nipple, matching Sherlock's pace. “Tell me how you feel, Sherlock…”  John whispered, scotching closer to press his lips against Sherlock's shoulder.

“Warm…” Sherlock moaned, rolling his hips up into his own fist. “Fuzzy… Why do I feel fuzzy, John. I shouldn't feel fuzzy…”

“What are you thinking about?” John whispered, pinching Sherlock's nipple lightly between his thumb and index finger. 

“You, what you did to me on the plane.” Sherlock grunted, moving his fist faster. “Your lips… Your tongue….” Sherlock moaned as he began to writhe on the bed. “John….”

“I'm here, luv.” John kissed Sherlock's neck and shifted until he was sitting astride Sherlock's hips. He leaned low, until they were chest against chest, and cock against cock. There was a sound of lube being dispensed then John reached his hand between their bodies, taking both their cocks into his hand. Squeezing gently he began to rock into his fist.

“Do you have any idea what I've wanted to do to you?” John grunted at the sweet friction caused by their movements. “All these years…”

“Of course I do…” Sherlock murmured with a smirk. 

“Of course you do. My handsome genius.” John smirked back throwing his head back as Sherlock began flicking his hips up in quick jerking movements. 

“Joooohhhnn!” With a pleading moan Sherlock shuddered underneath John, digging his fingernails into John's back while gripping him tightly as if John would float away at any moment. . 

“Come for me, Sherlock.” John whispered into Sherlock's ear. “Come for me, just like this you gorgeous man, and I'll tell you how brilliant you are.” John tightened his hand around their cocks while capturing Sherlock's moan with his mouth.

Sherlock nodded into the kiss while his whole body, from toes to forehead, tensed as he gave into every ounce of the pleasure John Watson was bestowing upon him. His legs felt like both fire and jelly at the same time as small waves of pleasure began bouncing around in his belly. 

With a loud shout, that seemed to release the waves of pleasure, sending them coursing through his chest until they wrapped around the base of his skull making his vision go fuzzy and red, Sherlock spent himself in John's hand, feeling his own hot cum land on his stomach. 

“Fuck…” John panted, beads of sweat now forming on his brow. “That was brilliant, Sherlock.” Sherlock smiled through the waves of pleasure and opened his eyes just in time to see John’s face washed in pleasure as his cum came out in a powerful torrent that landed over Sherlock's chest and neck. 

“Sher…” John moaned as his orgasm claimed him, collapsing immediately onto Sherlock's chest, smearing their cum together. “Brilliant, darling… Perfect. You're perfect.” John mumbled, absentmindedly running his finger in a pool of their cum. 

“Mmm.” Sherlock's baritone voice hummed, running his hands along John's sweat slickened back. 

When John finally pulled away it was with a laugh as he saw the glob of his own cum that had landed on Sherlock's chin. As if it were the most natural thing he'd ever done, John leaned forward and gently licked the spot clean. 

“John…” Sherlock whispered, taking John's chin in his hand and tilting his face up for a kiss. “We.. We didn't… Well that is. You didn't…” He fought for words, still blissfully warm from what John's correctly guessed was only his second or third orgasm. 

“Didn't have penetrative sex?” John asked gently, settling on his side beside his husband.

“Mm that.” Sherlock waved his free hand in the air and nodded. 

“Told you, Sherlock. I'm not going to hurt you.” John whispered softly, running his fingers over the drying cum on Sherlock's chest. “That kind of sex takes a bit of preparation. Something I would feel more comfortable doing at home.”

“How do you know so much?” Sherlock asked with a kiss, playfully adding, “Is it because you are a doctor?”

“Partly…” John's voice was small and he suddenly found himself unable to look Sherlock in the eye. 

“Partly?” Sherlock propped himself up on a wobbly elbow and stroked a sweaty lock off of John's forehead. “What is it John. Why are you hiding from me.”

“Sherlock.” John swallowed hard and somehow managed the courage required to look his husband in the eye. “You're not the first man I've been with.” John waited for Sherlock to get mad, or to push him away with a hurt look on his face. But instead Sherlock chucked and tightly pulled John into his arms. 

“I know, John.” He kissed the top of John's head and settled back down on the bed with a content sigh. 

“Sholto,” John continued, “wait, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

“How the bloody hell did you know?”

“Mary and I discussed it. At your wedding. Of course you and Sholto. You have that man puppy dog eyes the second he walked in that room. I’d only seen you look that way one other time, and that was after chasing the cabby throughout London.” Sherlock laughed and leaned back to look at John. “Guess Angelo was right. We are idiots.”

“Mmm.” John agreed, chuckling into Sherlock's chest. 

“How ‘bout we call down for that bottle of wine now.”

“Only if you answer the door.” John sighed, rolling onto his back and burrowing under the blankets. “I simply can't get up.”

“Can I answer the door naked?” Sherlock’s face twitched into a smirk as he reached for the phone and ducked under the pillow John tossed at him. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“You’ll take that as a no, if you know what’s good for you…” John grumbled, grabbing up another pillow and smacked it against Sherlock's shoulder. 

“John, I'm on the phone and you are being incredibly rude.” Sherlock chided, his eyes twinkling with more mischief that John was sure he could handle. 

“Order food toommfff.” John was cut off by Sherlock smashing a finger against his lips as he began to speak into the phone. In fluent French Sherlock ordered them a bottle of wine and what John only could hope was dinner.

“Merci.” Sherlock smiled at John as he hung up the phone. “John, how do you feel about eating dinner blindfolded?”

“I'm sorry? What?”

“You heard me.” Sherlock moved back to the center of the bed, leaning so close over John that they were breathing the same air. 

“I… Well I prefer to to be the one doing the blindfolding….” 

“Oh?” Sherlock's heart skipped a beat, imagining John in tan camo hovering over him. Black combat boots being the last thing he was allowed to see before John secured a blindfold over his eyes. The feeling of leather gloved hands running over his bare skin.

“Sherlock?” John leaned up half an inch and kissed Sherlock back to reality. “Lost you for a second there…” He searched Sherlock's eyes with concern and let out a small laugh when Sherlock made a noise of pure arousal.

“Ooh, I see.” He whispered, roughly pushing Sherlock onto his back and sitting astride his hips. “You  _ like  _ that idea, don't you.” John's hands, hot and heavy were spread over Sherlock's chest and the detective let out a low keen.

“Yes,  _ Captain.” _ Sherlock breathed, hoping John would swiftly understand the extent of his desires. 

“Oh? Captain?” John growled, leaning down and putting his face just above Sherlock's. “Is that what you want, Sherlock?”

“Oh god yes.” Sherlock practically moaned. 

“Alright. After dinner then, we need to go shopping.” John winked and stole a hard kiss, sucking Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth and biting down. “Best go shower…”

“Shower?” Sherlock’s moan turned into a whine as John pulled away and sat up. “Whatever for?”

“Because, you’re covered in cum.” John eyed the now dry and flakey cum that adorned Sherlock's front. 

“Problem?” 

“A bit, yeah. Not sure I’d be able to restrain myself. Knowing you were out in public covered in my cum, hidden under your shirt or not. Shower…” John nodded in the direction of the adjoining bathroom. “Don't make me ask again.” With that Sherlock scurried off of the bed and had nearly made it into the bathroom when John called after him.

“Oi! What made you ask about the blindfold?”

“Was going to blindfold you and feed you dinner.” Sherlock turned back round and gave John the most sensual look John had ever seen. 

“Was?”

“Will?”

“Yeah, now hurry up and shower before I give you another reason to shower.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you,” Sherlock motioned to the food. “For this, and the water, for taking care of me last night and continuing to do so.” As he spoke Sherlock stole the freshly buttered toast from John's hands and winked. “I don't tell you often enough how much I appreciate you.” 
> 
> “Oi!” John playfully smacked his husband for stealing his food. “Get your own.”
> 
> “What can I say, John.” Sherlock smiled cheekily. “Your food is so much more appealing.”
> 
> “Oh? Is that the secret to get you to eat, then?” Joe asked as he buttered another slice of toast and moved it just out of Sherlock's reach.
> 
> “I will neither confirm, nor deny that.”
> 
> “Mmm… ‘Course.” John murmured into his mug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still looking for a beta. Most of this is being posted un beta'd because I just don't have the time to look over it a few times. SO if you see something, feel free to let me know! AND if you'd like to help out, again, let me know!

Five hours later found John helping a rather intoxicated Sherlock back into their rooms. Sherlock was giggling, talking about the time in uni when he’d pranked Mycroft by signing him up for a year long subscription to “Healthy Hair For Aging Men.”

“Yes darling, I'm sure that is hilarious. But if you stand up, and stop sitting against the doorframe, I can close the door.” John bent down and took both of Sherlock's hands in his. “Now up we go. Slowly now, don't need you sick all over me.” John groaned, regretting the moment Sherlock suggested they go to the pub. Two drinks in and Sherlock was ready to stand up and sing karaoke. Even though it wasn't karaoke night.

“John…” Sherlock slurred as he stood, giggling as John had to catch him as he stumbled over his coat. “Did you see the moon?” He looked up at the ceiling with dreamy eyes, as if he could still see the moon. 

“Yes. Looked just like it did back home.”

“But, John.” Sherlock pointed an index finger and poked John in the chest with it three times. “This one is so much more moonish.” he then waved his hands in the air, nearly knocking both himself and John off balance. 

“Moonish isn't a word, Sherlock.” John grunted as he lead (dragged) his husband towards the bedroom.

“‘Course it's a word. I would know if it's a word.” Sherlock looked offended as John pulled him along by his elbow.

“Of course. How silly of me.” John shook his head and laughed, pushing Sherlock into the bedroom. “Help me get your trousers off.” John began pulling at Sherlock's shoes while Sherlock lay on the bed running his hands over the silky duvet. 

“John! Feel this!”

“I know. I felt it earlier.”

“No! Feel it!” 

“Yes, alright.” John ran his hands over the duvet and shrugged. “Yeah. Nice.”

“Yeah. It is nice. Isn't it.” Sherlock giggled, closing his eyes and rolling over. 

“Oi! Trousers!” John grunted and tosses Sherlock's shoes aside. After a bit of struggle John stripped Sherlock down to his pants and got him under the covers in what he hopped was a comfortable position. “Christ you're pissed. Two drinks, and your pissed.”

“Can I have another?” Sherlock blinked and smiled lazily up at his husband.

“Another drink?” John let out a sharp laugh and shook his head. “No. We've had enough for one night.”

“Can we…” Sherlock yawned and stretched out on the bed. 

“Just go to sleep, darling.” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” Sherlock slurred, rubbing his face against the pillow, making his hair stick up in the most adorable way. 

“Yes, yes it is.” John fought back a chuckle. 

“But we bought all those new toys.” Sherlock whined, already half asleep but waved his hand in the direction of the bag John was placing down on the bedside table. 

“Yes, and we can use them tomorrow, after we've both gotten some sleep.”

“Mmm so smart… John, I married a smart man… He’s cute too.”

“Go on.” John grinned, climbing into bed beside Sherlock and rubbing his nose along the nape of Sherlock's neck. 

“He’s very brave.”

“And?” John spoke softly while pressing soft kisses along Sherlock's neck and shoulders. 

“Smells good.” Sherlock hummed. “Like exotic spices, and cologne.” Sherlock rolled over and rubbed his nose against John's. “He's pretty BAMF.”

“What?” 

“A bad ass motherfucker, John. Do keep up.”

“Oh.” John had to press his lips against Sherlock’s in order to hold back his laughter. 

“And I bet he would look fantastic in a kilt.” Sherlock mumbled on, “Watson Tartan… Watson.” he opened his eyes and smiled broadly. “Oh, hello, John.”

“Yes, hello.” John allowed himself to laugh as he pulled Sherlock against his chest. “Now go to sleep.” 

“I love you, John.”

“I love you too, Sherlock.”

 

* * *

 

John woke early the next morning and let out a sigh of relief. Sherlock had slept through the night without getting sick. Now came the joyous part of dealing with a hungover Sherlock. John proved himself from Sherlock's arms and stole out of bed to go see if Mycroft had packed anything useful for the current situation. 

After a few minutes of looking John tossed the last bag down with a groan. At a loss without his medical kit he hurried to the phone in the bedroom and phoned the front desk. Speaking in hushed tones he ordered breakfast, orange juice, and a bottle of acetaminophen. Once off the phone he returned to their bags and retrieved their dressing gowns. He left Sherlock's dressing gown and a glass of water by the bed for Sherlock while he spent his time waiting for breakfast in the shower. 

Showered and feeling refreshed John wrapped himself in his dressing gown, the silk one Sherlock had gotten him for Christmas, and had just finished shaving when there was a knock on the suite door. As he passed through the bedroom he noted with a smile that Sherlock had at least woken up long enough to drink half of the water he'd set out for him. 

Deciding to let him sleep a bit longer John quietly crept out of the bedroom and only woke him once he had the food spread out on a tray. Carefully placing the tray on the table John crawled over Sherlock and pulled the blankets down off of his face. 

“Sherlock, sweetheart.” John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's sweaty forehead. “I've got you some breakfast.”

Sherlock opened an eye and peered out at the food from his fortress of blankets. 

“Two meals in a row, John?”

“Yes, well, it'll help the hangover. And actually, it's three. You ate lunch at Angelo’s.”

“I'm not hungover.” Sherlock grumbled, covering his head with the blankets again.

“Well,” John patted Sherlock's blanketed bum, “there’s coffee, orange juice, oh and acetaminophen. For that headache you don't have.” John smirked as Sherlock threw off the covers and sat up, snatched up a cup of coffee and the three tablets and downed them in one sip with a comical grimace. 

“John?”

“Mm?” John hummed automatically as he buttered a piece of toast. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock motioned to the food. “For this, and the water, for taking care of me last night and continuing to do so.” As he spoke Sherlock stole the freshly buttered toast from John's hands and winked. “I don't tell you often enough how much I appreciate you.”  

“Oi!” John playfully smacked his husband for stealing his food. “Get your own.”

“What can I say, John.” Sherlock smiled cheekily. “Your food is so much more appealing.”

“Oh? Is that the secret to get you to eat, then?” Joe asked as he buttered another slice of toast and moved it just out of Sherlock's reach. 

“I will neither confirm, nor deny that.”

“Mmm… ‘Course.” John murmured into his mug. 

“Please tell me you don't have a day of sightseeing planned for us.”

“Sightseeing?” John laughed and sipped on his coffee. “We’re on our honeymoon. No. No sightseeing for us. I rather thought we'd stay in bed. Maybe try out a few of our purchases?”

Sherlock blushed and tried to hide his arousal by stuffing a bit of toast into his mouth. 

“Alright?” John smirked and laughed at Sherlock's growl. 

They spent the rest of breakfast bantering back and forth. John eventually gave up trying to get Sherlock to eat off his own plate and moved his plate slightly closer to Sherlock to prevent crumbs from falling on the bed. Once full John placed the tray on the bedside table and tackled Sherlock to the bed. 

“How's the head?” He asked while smoothing Sherlock's sleep mussed hair. 

“Bit not good.” Sherlock let out a content sigh as John's weight held him firmly against the bed. 

“Mmm. You know what's good for getting rid of headaches?” John snaked his fingers under Sherlock's neck and played with the neatly trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock hummed happily and leaned into John's touch. 

“A nice sensual orgasm.” John grinned playful while reaching for the shopping bag from the night before while placing soft kisses to Sherlock's chest. 

“John?” 

“Yes, Bumble?” 

“Why?” Sherlock blushed and blinked at the pet name, nearly forgetting his question. “Why…” He whined at the sudden loss of John's weight and heat as John sat up and began rummaging through the bag. “Why have you been so gentle with me?” He eyed the bag, picturing the light restraints John had picked out.

“Do you really not know?” When Sherlock shook his head John abandoned the bag in favor of cupping his hands around Sherlock's face. “Oh, Bumble.” John smiled at the effect the pet name had on him. “It's because I want you to know how loved you are.”

“John…” Sherlock hummed blissfully as John showered him with a torrent of soft feather light kisses. “I'm not going to break.”

“I know.” Rummaging through the bag again he let out a triumphant sound and pulled something from it. 

“A big rougher…” Sherlock gasped as John leaned down a and in one fluid movement rolled their hips together and thrust his tongue between Sherlock's parted lips. “Would be nice… He finished as John sat up with a coy smile. 

“Oh? So you don't want me to use this?” John sat up and held up the bottle of Strawberry Honey Dust with a wink. 

“Well…” Sherlock swallowed hard as he imagined John's lips sucking the honey sweet powder off his body, each kiss becomi more and more heated. “If you must.  I'll suffer through it.” Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly and tried his best not to moan.

“You want to suffer? Want it rough?” John leaned over and reached into the bag once more, withdrawing a length of red rope. “Wrists, Sherlock.” Sherlock smirked as he held his wrists out and John began to coil the silky rope around them.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, or I won't let you cum. No matter how much you beg.”

Sherlock felt himself grow impossibly hard as he watched his husband transform from the jumper wearing doctor to Army Captain who would not be denied.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Also, I want it said,” John continued winding the rope expertly around his wrists, telling him that this was not John’s first time tying someone's wrists. “that I am fully aware that you were trying to manipulate me just now.” John gave Sherlock a stern warning look as he tied a sturdy knot. “Do not do it again. Or you  _ will _ regret it.” The hint of cold steel in John's voice made Sherlock's head swim with desire. “Do you understand?” To emphasize Sherlock's position John tugged on the rope and gave him a wicked grin. 

“Yes…” Sherlock gasped at the sudden change in his husband and big back the moan that was threatening to escape his throat as John raised his arms above his head, securing them to the headboard behind him. “Captain.”

“So… Where shall I start?” John unscrewed the cap, which was adorned with an array of soft feathers and lightly dragged them over Sherlock's stomach. “Here?” Or… “He then trailed them between Sherlock's thighs, “or here?”

“Ah, ah, ah!” He risked when Sherlock started to open his mouth. “It's adorable that you still think you have a say.” John shifted off of Sherlock and knelt beside him on the bed while doping the feathers into the sweet smelling powder. “Here, I think.” John nodded, as if agreeing with himself as he gently glided the powdered feathers over Sherlock's left nipple. 

“Ahhhh!” Sherlock moaned and arched his back into the feeling before suddenly turning beat red. If that was his reaction after only the first touch how was he going to handle the rest.

“Relax, Sherlock.” John placed a firm hand on Sherlock's shoulder and looked him square in the eye. And for a moment the soft caring side of John Watson(-Holmes he reminded himself) was there making sure all was alright. 

“We’ll start small, yeah? Here, here… And here. Alright?” John dragged the feathers across his nipples, down his stomach and in a small circle around his cock. “Just a bit. Okay? Can you handle that?”

“Yes,” Sherlock croaked, “yes, Captain.”

“That's a good boy.” John winked and then just like that he transformed back into the Captain and very slowly, aware of Sherlock's eyes watching him, dipped the feathers back into the powder. “Relax…” John ordered as he touched the feathers to Sherlock's other nipple. “Goooood.” he purred when Sherlock bit back a moan and simply whimpered. 

“So attentive to my touch.” John purred as he twirled the feathers over Sherlock's nipples, chuckling when they hardened. “What about here…” John applied more power to the feathers and lightly touched them to Sherlock's stomach. “God…” John felt himself harden as Sherlock's stomach muscles quivered and goose flesh crept over his body. 

John twisted the feathers lightly over Sherlock, letting them dance their way across his stomach spreading the sweet powder in their wake. By the time he withdrew them and sat back Sherlock was panting and straining against his bonds. John tightened the feather cap back onto the bottle, placed it aside and put a sturdy hand on his husbands thigh. Soothing his thumb over Sherlock's leg he leaned down and placed a kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth, inhaling the gasps that escaped his perfect Cupid bow lips.    
  
"Ready?" He moved his hand up Sherlock's leg and traced his index finger along the outline of Sherlock's erection where it was straining against his pants. Sherlock gave a small nod and John stooped to place a kiss to the tip of his prick.    
  
"What do you think? Should I take these off first?" John hooked a finger under the elastic waistband and gave it a tentative tug, just enough to reveal the flushed tip of Sherlock's pink prick.    
  
"Yes, J-Captain." Sherlock begged with a small voice, hardly above a whisper while rolling his hips up against John's face. With a devious smirk John gave into Sherlock's whim and let his opened mouth run down Sherlock's length.    
  
Slowly John began pulling his pants down bit by bit. As each inch of Sherlock cockstand  was revealed John swept his tongue over it. As he reached Sherlock's bollocks Sherlock gave a small twitch but quickly stilled himself when John looked up at him and shook his head.    
  
"Good lad...." John praised him as he sat back up and tossed Sherlock's pants aside. He picked up the bottle of honey dust again and watched his husband as he unscrewed the cap. "I'm impressed."   
  
"Thank you, Sir."    
  
"Mmm. Now where was I?" John held the power covered feathers in the air and waited expectantly for an answer.   
  
"My thighs, Sir." Sherlock stammered, fighting for the ability to think.    
  
"Ahh yes. Now, listen closely. Until I tell you to stop, you are to tell me exactly what you are feeling. Should you stop without permission, you will get a slap to your inner thigh as a reminder."   
  
"Un... Understood, Captain." Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes as he attempted to focus. As John ghosted the feathers over his lower thigh he gasped and wrapped his fingers tightly around the rope. “It, uh…. It tickles.” He let out a small moan and cleared his throat. “But not… Ooh….” He shifted in his spot and gasped as the feathers traveled higher, closer to his groin, “not as if someone were….Oooh-mmm… Tickling me. This is… ahhh... softer. Nicer. Makes me feel warm inside.”

“Good…” John purred as he gave Sherlock’s other leg the same treatment. “Now comes the important part.” He placed the powder aside and crawled over Sherlock, careful not to let their bodies touch below the waist. With a smirk he blew a steady stream of warm air over Sherlock's already hardened nipples then stuck his tongue out and slowly circled it around his left nipple.

“Mmm sweet, with a hint of strawberry.” John hummed happily even as Sherlock convulsed beneath him with a throaty moan. “That good for you too?” John laughed as he continued slowly torturing his husband. 

“I’ve always imagined you to have a talented mouth….” Sherlock gasped as John's whole mouth enveloped his already sensitive nipple. But this is beyond anything I could have imagined. Your…” Sherlock let out a forced breath between pursed lips and continued, “mouth is especially hot, yet it's sending what appears to be chills…” He twitched as John's teeth lightly scraped across his skin, “running down my body.”

“Do you like it?” John asked as his mouth grazed over Sherlock's right nipple. 

“Y-Yes. Very much.” Sherlock let out a sharp breath and strained against his bonds. John bit down rather hard around Sherlock's sensitive nipple and sat up with a hard look on his face as Sherlock let out a tiny whimper.

“Would you like to repeat that, correctly this time?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I'm enjoying it very much, Captain.” Sherlock quickly corrected himself.

“Good.” John purred as he nibbled lightly on Sherlock's chest. “So do I.” He sat back up and looked intently at Sherlock. “Now just lay back and relax. Enjoy this. But, when I get here,” John lightly tapped Sherlock's inner thigh, “want you to go back to describing what you feel.”

“Mmm yes, Captain.” Sherlock moaned and writhed beneath John's expert tongue as it traversed his chest, worked its way down the small patch of hair he had around his navel and then slowly began the descent down to sherlock's thighs. Just as he was about to touch his lips to Sherlock's just skin John sat up and grinned.

“Taste yourself…” John whispered, crawling over his husband and pressing their lips together in a deep kiss. 

“Like to use that on you…” Sherlock hummed as John moved back down his body. “Later?”

“Later.” John agreed as he placed an opened mouth kiss to Sherlock's inner thigh. 

“Ah! John!” Sherlock cried out as his thighs clamped down around John's head. John pried Sherlock's legs apart and looked up, hiding his grin. 

“What was that all about?”

“I…” Sherlock blushed and lay his head back down against the pillows. “almost came…”

“Just from this?” John  murmured, repeating the kiss only on the other leg this time, laughing when he got the same reacting. 

“Good. Now stay still and come for me, Sherlock.” John ordered then licked a long srtrip up Sherlock's leg, ending with his nose buried in Sherlock's bollocks. He only had to repeat the motion three more times before Sherlock's pants became loud moans that John was sure could be heard in the next room over. 

“J.. Captain!” Sherlock shouted as his prick twitched, untouched, and spurted steady streams of his hot seed onto his stomach. 

“Brilliant…” John hummed as he sucked in the top of Sherlock's prick, cleaning it off with his tongue. Taking himself in hand he gave a few hard strokes before he felt his balls tighten and tense. Moving quickly he sat astride Sherlock's shoulders and pressed the tip of his aching prick against Sherlock's waiting mouth. 

Had he not already been on the verge of orgasm, the very sight of Sherlock, hair disheveled, his face flushed with color from his orgasm, and his plush lips parted, waiting for his prick, would have sent him over the edge. Digging his toes into the sheets and trembling hard John found his release in Sherlock's mouth and let up a long pent up moan. 

“Fuck…” John continued to tremble long after Sherlock had milked him empty and sat there unable to move, other than reaching up to undo Sherlock's wrists. Seeming to catch onto this fact Sherlock gently helped his husband onto his side and entwined their bodies together. Chest to chest, legs tangled together with the sheet, one of Sherlock's arms snaked under the pillow where John's head was resting. 

“Alright?” Sherlock whispered, stealing soft kisses from his husband. 

“More than alright.”

“It was that good?”

“ _ You  _ were that good.” John ran a hand through Sherlock's hair and let out a content sigh.

“But I didn't touch you.” Sherlock wondered aloud as John curled up into him. 

“Didn't have too. Watching you take your pleasure like that, unashamed. Christ Sherlock, it was hot.”

“Hot is… Good?”

“Hot is very good.” John mumbled sleepily while kissing Sherlock's lips. “A little lie in… Sounds nice…” His eyes focused on the strand of hair he was repeatedly tucking behind Sherlock's ear. “The curls were nice… But this is sexy…” He whispered half asleep, still drunk off the pleasure of his orgasm. 

“Mm glad you approve.” Sherlock chuckled as he tucked the blankets around them. “Nap and then dinner?”

  
“Mmm…” John nodded and then with a content sigh he gave into sleep. 


	11. Chapter 11

John and Sherlock spent the following days in much the same manner as their first day. Only rising from bed for necessities and the occasional stroll, arm in arm, through the city. Sherlock proved to be a quick study in bed, and was soon critiquing John's form whenever he saw room for improvement. On one particular occasion, only moments after John had found his release against Sherlock's stomach; Sherlock half half opened his drowsy eyes and mumbled,   
  
"John, had you braced your toes against the footboard, you not have grown tired for another 7 minutes thirty seconds."   
  
"Sherlock?" John hummed as he rolled onto his side, still panting and happily sated.    
  
"John?" Sherlock sighed and curled his body around John's. 

  
"Shut up."   
  
"John, I'm merely trying to help you improve your technique."   
  
"Yes, I know... Shut up." John laughed and silenced any further protests with a deep kiss. As they lay there, fading in and out of sleep while exchanging sleepy kisses, Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times. John smiled softly to himself, aware that Sherlock was fighting through the pleasure induced haze for words.    
  
"What is it, Bumble?" He kissed the tip of Sherlock's nose, encouraging him.    
  
"I think, John..." Sherlock began slowly, "that I'd like to become a father." Sherlock nuzzled deeper into John's chest and kicked a leg out from under the blankets.    
  
"Well, maybe after all this sex we've been having, one of us is pregnant." John's laugh fell short when Sherlock didn't join him. "Oh..." He whispered, seeing the sincerity in Sherlock's eyes.    
  
"John..." Sherlock paused, then propped himself up on an elbow. "Mycroft, as our final wedding present, he found us a suitable surrogate.    
  
"Oh..." John repeated, suddenly at a loss for words.    
  
"Her features closely resemble both of ours, she's in excellent health, while not a genius she has a remarkably high I.Q. and she lives in London."   
  
"If..." John began, but was cut off as Sherlock continued.    
  
"Now, my vote is we mix our sperm and leave..."    
  
"Twins." John cut in softly. "Two eggs. Twins. One biologically yours, one mine."   
  
"Is," Sherlock sat up as fast as a bolt of lightning, "is that a yes?"   
  
"Yes, Sherlock. Of course, yes." John was just leaning up to press a kiss to Sherlock's lips when Sherlock sprung off the bed and went running towards the main room, pale naked ass catching the golden rays of the morning sun. He returned a moment later with a bundle of papers and a pen, a slight blush on his face as he handed them over.   
  
"Mycroft and I have already filled most of it out. You'll just have to sign."   
  
"Ever the efficient one, aren't you." John chuckled as he took the papers and pen, sitting up in bed with a grunt. He began to read over the legal document but was stopped by Sherlock only a few lines in.    
  
"John, I assure you that all is in order. Mycroft, his his lawyers, and I have all gone over it."   
  
"Right." John nodded, but continued reading despite the clearly impatient huff coming from the direction of his husband. When done he looked up from the papers and nodded. "Looks good."    
  
"We'll just give the signed document to Mycroft, he'll expedite everything."   
  
"Pays to be friends with the government." John mused.    
  
"Brothers." Sherlock corrected.    
  
"To _ mato _ ,  _ to- _ mato." John smiled and shrugged, signing his name at the end of the form with and elaborate capital W and H.    
  
"I like seeing our names together." Sherlock knelt beside John and leaned down, cupping his face with both hands. "It's now it should be."   
  
"That wouldn't be sentiment I smell, now would it?" John teased as he tilted his head up, pressing his lips softly against Sherlock's.    
  
"Never..." Sherlock's eyes twinkled playfully. "How shall we celebrate? A bottle of merlot, cigars on the balcony?   
  
"Oh, I don't know. I can think of a couple ways..." John winked and pushed Sherlock back against the bed, laying over him with a smirk.    
  
"John..." Sherlock looked up at him with pleading eyes, "I want you inside me..."   
  
"Bumble, we've talked about this." John’s shoulders dropped and he let out a soft sigh.   
  
"Yes, not until we're home... I know, but if it's about cleanliness, I happen to know that you always carry latex gloves with you. You have some in the front pocket of your case."   
  
"Sherlock, it's not that." John leaned down and rubbed his nose against Sherlock's forehead. "I'm worried I won't be able to control myself. And I've promised not to hurt you."   
  
"What if I promised to tell you if it's too much." Sherlock whispered, returning the nose rub.    
  
"Well..." John slowly nodded, allowing a soft smile to tug at his lips. "Only if you promise." When Sherlock nodded John sat up, holding a finger up indicating that Sherlock should wait for him. He retreated to his suitcase on the far side of the room; after rummaging for a moment to tossed an object to Sherlock who sat up with an elaborate eye roll.    
  
"An enema, John? Is that really necessary?"    
  
"Well... Yes." John crossed his arms and gave. Sherlock a pointed look.    
  
"It's not exactly romantic."    
  
"Well neither is the alternative."   
  
"You have a valid point..." Sherlock let out a dejected sigh and stalked into the bathroom, waving off John just as he began to offer his help.    
  
"Not my first time, John." When John gave him a confused look he offered a  small shrugged. "My diet, or lack of, sometimes..." He trailed off as John nodded his understanding and closed the bathroom door behind him.    


Fifteen minutes later Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom, giving John an annoyed look. 

“I blame you for making me eat so much.”

“Blame that I'll happily accept.” John sat at the edge of the bed and reached out to take Sherlock by the hips, pulling him close. “Now, you're certain…”

“Certain I want to do this?” Sherlock rested his chin on the top of John's head, running his fingers through John's hair. “Yes, John. I didn't go through all that,” he motioned towards the bathroom, “for nothing.”

“No…” John agreed, twisting his torso and pulling Sherlock to the bed. Sherlock fell on his back with a surprised grunt. “Perhaps not.”

"Well, as long as you're certain." John smiled softly as he ran his thumbs over Sherlock's hips. "But we'll go slow."   
  
"Yes, alright. Now get on with it." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pressed his hips up against his stomach. "No need to practice your bedside manners, Doctor."   
  
"Oh shut up, Sherlock. Or I'll gag you."   
  
"With what, John? We did not buy a gag." Sherlock smirked up at John. "And I highly doubt you're skilled enough to sneak out while I'm..."   
  
"With my cock." John cut in with a roll of his eyes.   
  
"That's hardly a threat, John." Sherlock involuntarily licked his lips, imaging John's thick cock pulsing against his tongue.   
  
"No? But it would slow us down." John moved off of Sherlock and patted his hip. "Roll over, and spread your legs. As Sherlock rolled over John stuffed a pillow under Sherlock's hips then crawled behind him, settling on his knees between Sherlock's legs.    
  
"I cleaned myself thoroughly." Sherlock said, twisting his neck around to watch John.    
  
"Not worried about that, Bumble." John nodded towards the pillows. "Turn around and relax."   
  
"Yes,  _ Sir _ ."  Sherlock grumbled, but did as he was instructed.    
  
John placed his left hand on Sherlock's bum and rubbed his thumb over his porcelain skin.  As he thought about what he was about to do a wave of emotion rushed over him. With no small amount of anticipation John reached for the bottle of lube by Sherlock's head and popped open the top.   
  
"John, before you ask again, yes, I am certain. I want this. I want you inside me."   
  
"Me too..." John whispered, nodding then leaning down to press a kiss to the small of Sherlock's back. "Bumble, scootch back a bit... On your knees a bit more. Mm perfect."    
  
This new position propped Sherlock up on the pillow more, so his pert ass was now sticking out in the air; there for John's taking.    
John squeezed a liberal amount of lubricant into the palm of his right hand, and with his left index and middle fingers scooped up a small amount.    
  
"Might be a bit cold..." He murmured automatically, seconds before he began massaging his fingers against Sherlock's pink hole.    
  
"You don't say..." Sherlock hissed, arching his back.    
  
"Sorry..." John chuckled as the tension in the room shattered. "Promise it'll be worth it."   
  
John then slowly began to massage the area around Sherlock's hole. When his fingers brushed over Sherlock's perineum the detective shivered and let out a low moan. Encouraged, John added a bit more force to his touch and felt his cock stand at attention as Sherlock let out a loud baritone moan.   
  
"Mmm, do you like that?" John cooed, sliding his fingers over Sherlock, making his husband squirm.    
  
"Yes..." Sherlock nodded his head enthusiastically and rocked back against John's fingers.   
  
"You'll like this then." John circled his index finger around Sherlock's entrance a few times, then just as he slipped it in to the second knuckle he brought his right hand up to cup Sherlock's cock.    
  
"John!" Sherlock shouted, pushing back harder against John's finger.    
  
"Relax darling, don't want you to come this soon. Just relax and enjoy this." John hooked his index finger and began to move it in and out.    
  
"Fuck!" Sherlock balled his fits up against the pillows and let out a long breath.    
  
"Did... Did you just say fuck?" John laughed, planting a kiss to Sherlock's sweaty back.    
  
"Stop talking, John, it's ruining your concentration." Sherlock snapped his head back and glared at John.    
  
"Shut up, don't make me bite you."   
  
"Another empty threat, John." Sherlock grumbled, propping himself up on his elbows.    
  
"Hush, Bumble." John gave his cock a hard squeeze and continued torturing his husband. He massaged Sherlock open, three fingers and twenty minutes later his own cock was leaking copious amounts of precum.    
  
"Sherlock, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. My cock is so hard it hurts..."   
  
"I..." Sherlock drooled into the pillow, "I'm ready. Just go slow.   
  
Just for good measure John withdrew his fingers, just to add in a fourth finger. He pumped and twisted hand through the initial resistance until his fingers glided in easily. Once Sherlock began rocking back against him John pulled out, coated his cock in lube and wiped his hand on the blankets.    
  
Wordlessly he sat up on his knees and took Sherlock's hips in his left hand while taking his cook in his right. Tentatively at first, he rubbed his cock against Sherlock's hole, smearing both lube and precum in his wake.    
  
"John...." Sherlock began trembling in anticipation.    
  
"I know Bumble." John breathed softly, taking himself between his thumb and his index finger he slowly pushed in until half his tip was inside his quivering husband.    
  
"Alright?" Sherlock nodded his answer and rocked back a fraction of an inch.    
  
"More, John. I can take it." Without waiting for John to move Sherlock reached backwards and uttered a loud moan as John's cock disappeared deep inside him.   
  
"Jesus..." John panted as Sherlock's muscles contracted around him, growing used to the stretch, and he had to bit his bottom lip in order to keep from cumming. "Christ you're so tight. Can I move?"   
  
"Slowly..." Sherlock nodded and let out a low keen as John slowly brushed against his prostate.    
  
"Jesus... I can feel..." John placed a hand on the small of Sherlock's back to steady him, "I can feel everything, every move, I can even feel your pulse."   
  
"John..." Sherlock moaned again, clearly John's name being the only thing Sherlock could now remember as all of his pleasure senses were on fire, reminding his brain that only one thing was important. John, John was the only thing that mattered. How he moved, how he felt, how he smelled, and how he always managed to know exactly what it was that Sherlock needed. (In most cases even before Sherlock himself knew what that was.)   
  
"I know, Bumble... I know. I've got you." John's hands slid up the underside of Sherlock stomach as he leaned down, resting his chest along Sherlock's back. He hooked his arms up over Sherlock's shoulders and held their bodies together in a tight embrace. "Love you..." he mumbled as he began moving in a steady rhythm.     
  
"Jjj - ahhhh - john." Sherlock breathed into the pillow as John continued to press directly against his prostate at an agonizingly slow pace. "Faster..." He managed as one of his bony hands reached between his legs to tug on his prick. "So close."   
  
"Me too, Sherlock." John nodded into Sherlock's back, torn between continuing with the slow pace that meant he'd be allowed another five minutes or so inside Sherlock, or heeding his husband's wishes and fucking the detective hard and fast for as long as he could hold out.    
  
At the very thought of cumming inside his husband John felt his balls tighten as he passed the point of no return. Knowing time was short he slammed inside Sherlock with a loud grunt. As he quickened his pace Sherlock's moans and shouts (yes, Sherlock was definitely yelling now) sent his mind spiraling into a mad frenzy. He only lasted five more thrusts, and was just barely able to whisper a warning into Sherlock's ear.    
  
"Now, Sherlock. Come now!"    
  
Sherlock nodded and rubbed the side of his face against John's and let out a deep guttural moan as his whole body tricked violently through his  orgasm. John burrowed his head in the nape of Sherlock's neck as he shot spurt after spurt of hot cum inside Sherlock. Weak from exertion he collapsed on top of Sherlock for a few minutes, listening to their combined pants and small content giggles fill the room. After he'd caught his breath he pulled out and  climbed behind Sherlock to asses the situation.    
  
"Are you hurt?" He rubbed a hand soothing over Sherlock's bum, feeling his heart flutter as he watched  the evidence of his pleasure oozed out of Sherlock.    
  
"Little sore. Not bad." Sherlock stretched and rolled over. "Was worth it." A long bony hand reached out and grabbed John's, pulling him to the bed and into a firm embrace. "I love you, John." Sherlock grinned and showered John in sleepy kisses.   
  
"That was..." John said between kisses with a small laugh. "Fantastic. Brilliant, even."   
  
"Mmm." Sherlock agreed as his fingers played in John's sweaty hair.    
  
"Can we do that again sometime?" John closed his eyes, hardly hoping that Sherlock would be willing to let John inside him again.    
  
"Of course. It's my favorite so far."   
  
"Oh?" John opened his eyes and looked up at his husband. "Why is that?"   
  
"Because." Sherlock blushed, "I like the feeling of you leaking out of me."   
  
"God, that's... Sexy, Sherlock." John grinned pulling Sherlock to his chest. "You saying fuck was pretty damn sexy as well... Can't wait to see what else I can make you say."   
  
"An experiment, John?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow and smiled. "You've grown up so fast..."   
  
"Oh, sod off." John laughed.    
  
Just then there was a knock on the door and a man with a thick French accent yelled through the door,   
  
"Pardon me, but we had a report that yelling was heard coming from this room. Are either of you in distress?   
  
With a mischievous smile Sherlock slid off the bed and picked up his dressing gown, wrapping it around his waist as he shuffled to the door. He threw it opened with an annoyed expression plastered on his face.    
  
"Doctor Watson-Holmes and I are on our honeymoon. And as we've just had penetrative anal sex, I would appreciate it if there were no more disturbances; or next time I have to answer the door I won't have this on..." As if to prove his point Sherlock tugged at the belt holding the robe closed and winked as the hotel attendant turned bright red.    
  
"Sorry, Monsieur... It won't..." Sherlock winked at the attendant and briskly shut the door in his face, returning to the bedroom with a look of triumph.    
  
"He won't be forgetting us any time soon."   
  
"I should hope not." John grinned as Sherlock climbed back into bed. "Now stop gloating and let me have a lie in. You've thoroughly exhausted me."    
  
"Mmm good. That's good, John." Sherlock mumbled, already half asleep with his head on John's chest. 

“Love you, Bumble…” John let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin frame and held him close. 

“Love you too.” Sherlock hummed softly as they both burrowed deeper under the blankets. 

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

“So good to see you two!” Mrs. Hudson cooed as the boys struggled into the flat, ladened down with bags. “Wasn't the same without you. It was quiet.” She added in a whisper.    
  
“I think she’s talking about you, Sherlock.” John winked at their giggling landlady.    
  
“I let you have sex with me, and this is how you treat me?” Sherlock grumbled pushing past them both and mounting the stairs.    
  
"Don't be rude, Sherlock! Why in my day..." She trailed off as both men disappeared up the stairs. "You two just get settled, I'll bring up tea." She called after them and scurried off to make tea, and perhaps to retrieve the box of chocolate biscuits she'd hidden away. While up on the second floor John and Sherlock were still bickering as they hung up their  coats.    
  
"We're not even home five minutes, Sherlock," John grumbled as he aggressively hung up his scarf, not noticing when it fell to the floor, "and you're back to your insufferable self!"   
  
"And you call me a slob!" Sherlock retorted, hiding a smirk when John bent to retrieve his scarf from the floor, giving him a perfect view of his arse. Before John had a chance to right himself Sherlock took a few long strides, placing himself  behind John directly in his personal space. As John straightened, his back pressed up against Sherlock's chest and let let out a breathy gasp as Sherlock's lips captured the back of his neck.    
  
"Sher..." John gasped as he leaned his whole body into Sherlock's embrace and giggled when he felt the beginnings of Sherlock's erection press into the small of his back.    
  
"Mrs. Hudson will see." He halfheartedly protested, yet didn't pull away from Sherlock's wandering mouth.   
  
"Mrs. Hudson has seen an erection before, John." Sherlock whispered, then pulled away suddenly as Mrs. Hudson materialized at the door.    
  
"Doesn't mean I want to see yours, Sherlock." She scolded as she came in bearing a tray of goodies and winking at John.    
  
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock placed one last wet, noisy kiss to John's neck then glided over to his chair. "How do you feel about children?"   
  
"Children are lovely, dear." She smiled sadly as she poured out two cups of tea. "It's a shame, you know. My husband and I talked about having them."    
  
"Good. Then you'll have no objection to John and I having twins?" Sherlock asked just as casually as if he were asking about the weather.    
  
"Twins?"  Despite her apparent confusion she wasn't able to hide the slightly excited tone in her voice.    
  
"Yes, twins.," John nodded as he accepted his cuppa, letting her know she'd heard correctly. “Via surrogate, thanks to Mycroft.” Sherlock smiled over his cuppa, the corners of his eyes betraying just how pleased he was.

“It’s a bit sudden.” Mrs. Hudson mused as she fussed with the tray.

“Is it?” Sherlock countered, arching an eyebrow and the aging woman. “John and I have lived together longer than most expecting couples.” 

“I suppose you’re right, as always.” She patted John’s shoulders and smiled. “I’ve got a big pot of stew simmering, I’ll pop out to the shops and get a nice bottle of wine to celebrate.”

“And some cake!” Sherlock called after her. “And I advise knocking before entering. We are married now.” She let out a noise of embarrassment as she disappeared down the stairs, but even John was able to detect the hint of a smile in her voice.

“You enjoyed that.” John rebuked gently, stifling his laughter. 

“And you didn’t?” Questioned Sherlock, his eyes twinkling playfully

“Mmm. Would you like to come into the bedroom, and I can show you just how much I liked it?” John leaned forward in his chair and placed a hand on Sherlock’s knee. Just then however, Sherlock’s mobile chirped and John sat back with a groan. “Don’t tell me. Lestrade with a case?”

“No…” Sherlock murmured, momentarily distracted, looking up after a moment with a childlike grin. “My brother. He and Miss. Stevens are on there way, here. Mycroft will look over the paperwork while we meet the surrogate.”

“How long?” John asked, “Until they get here?” 

“Ten minutes.”

“Should we tidy up?” John asked, suddenly feeling nervous.

“John. We haven’t been home for over a week. The flat is fine. But if you must have something to do, a fire wouldn’t go amiss.” 

“Fire, right.” John nodded, happy to have a task to carry out. “I can do that.” 

“John…” Sherlock stood and embraced his nervous husband. “Relax, I’ll be right here. You’re not in this alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

Christmas Eve that year found John and Sherlock cuddling on the sofa, exchanging drowsily kisses. (The reason for the constant kisses being the mistletoe hanging directly over them.) Sherlock, being longer and a bit thinner, was pressed up against the back while John had his back to the room. John head was comfortably nestled against Sherlock’s chest, and being both comfortable and warm was nearly asleep when Sherlock’s voice gently disturbed him.

“John, darling, can you reach my mobile?” He finished his request with a soft kiss to John’s forehead.

As John fought through the sleepy haze he became aware of a vibration coming from Sherlock’s breast pocket. 

“Bumble, you’re buzzing.” he giggled softly as he reached for Sherlock’s mobile.

“Probably my parents saying they’ve arrived at their hotel.” Sherlock’s voice was deep and unhurried from the laziness of the evening. Smiling when John answered the phone and gently rested it on the side of Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock’s sleepy eyes fluttered open as the female on the other end began to speak. He uttered a few brisk “Mmhmm’s” then “We’re on our way!” before pulling both himself and John up into a sitting position.

“Alright?” John asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Yes! More than alright.” Sherlock grasped John’s face and gave him a hard kiss. “Get your coat, husband! The babies are coming!” 

“Now?” John grinned, now wide awake, and sprung off the sofa.

“Now!” Sherlock tossed John his coat even as he shrugged into his own long grey coat. 

“Finally.” Due to his excitement John struggled momentarily to get his arm in the sleeve and was just in time to narrowly dodge the pair of shoes that Sherlock chucked at him without warning. “Oi! Careful…” John grumbled as he shoved his feet in the offending pair of shoes.

“You are certain that everything we need is in here?” Sherlock asked as he slung the strap of a overfull duffle bag over his shoulder.

“Yes, because you packed it, twice!” John chuckled and watched as his husband quickly transformed from the calm, cool, and calculating detective t o that of a panicked, soon to be sleep deprived father. He watched as Sherlock spun in circles, once, twice, three times. On the fourth he closed the space between them with a few short strides and placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

I love you, Sherlock.” He stood on his tiptoes and placed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“John, What if -” Sherlock began but was cut off by John pressing a finger to his lips.

“Hush. You’ll be a brilliant father. Just look around you.” John gestured to their flat. It was now bursting, to the seems almost, with toys, high chairs, blankets, and practically everything a new parent would need to survive the first few weeks with their new child. (Two in their case.) Sherlock had even gotten rid of the end tables and shelves on either side of the sofa, and now two identical cribs stood in their places. While upstairs John’s old room had been transformed into a nursery that could have come directly out A. A. Milne’s Winnie The Pooh, with trees and characters painted on the wall. 

“All that’s left is to go meet them.” John brought a hand up to cup the side of Sherlock’s face and stroked his thumb over Sherlock’s well defined jaw.

“How are you so calm, John?” Sherlock leaned into John’s touch and let out a nervous sigh.

“I’m a doctor.” John shrugged. “And I live with you. Now let’s go. Catching a cab in this weather might be a bit dodgy.”

“You’re right, of course.” Sherlock agreed, looking over John’s shoulder and out the window. It had been snowing off and on all day, leaving the entirety of London covered in a sparkling blanket of white. 

Luck was on their side that night, Just as they stepped out into the snow covered street a black town car pulled up, and Mycroft’s personal driver got out and opened the door for them. 

“That was fast.” John exclaimed as he climbed into the back of the warm car.

“Mycroft had him on standby, no doubt.” Sherlock handed John the duffle bag and was just about to slide in beside him when suddenly his eyes grew wide.

“Their car seats!” With that he dashed back into the flat, returning a moment later with two seats. No sooner did he have both feet in the car (door still open) was he ordering the driver to drive. Despite the drive to the hospital being a relatively short one, both men would later agree that it was the longest fifteen minutes either of them would ever endure.

“Shall I bring the car seats in for you, Sir?” The driver asked as he pulled up just in front of the maternity wing.

“Please.” John responded before Sherlock had time to process the question, pulling Sherlock out of the car and into the cold snowy night. They walked inside, hand in hand, and inquired at the nurses station on the whereabouts of Anna (as they had come to call her after nine months of appointments, scans, and the occasional dinner together.) and soon found themselves talking to the head nurse. Erika proved to be a kindly, if not excitable woman in her mid 30’s who seemed more than relieved to see John.

“Doctor Watson! Doctor Sierra is stuck at her parents in Gloucester, what with the snow, and it being Christmas Eve… We’re short staffed, half our doctors on leave for the holiday…”

“Yes, alright.” John understood, feeling a weight lift off his chest knowing he’d be allowed to deliver his own children. He’d wanted too from the start, but Mycroft had managed to talk them into allowing Doctor Jane Sierra handle the delivery. “Just show me where to scrub in.”

Five minutes later John found himself changed into scrubs and by Anna’s side checking her vitals. Ensuring himself that all was well he allowed himself to relax and settling into a chair by Sherlock’s side where they settled in for a late night.

 

* * *

 

 

“Anna? Are you ready to start pushing?” John asked gently, feeling pride well up in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t explain how he felt towards the woman who was bringing his children into this world; it wasn’t love, no. It was respect, he realized as the woman nodded and smiled at him.

“Have you thought of names yet?” She grunted as a wave a pain contorted her features.

“No.” John shook his head gently and shared a small smile with Sherlock. Sherlock had undoubtedly thought of at least three dozen possible names for each gender. But John hadn’t. It had been his idea not to know the gender of the twins, as well. “Don’t want to name them until we meet them.” He cleared his throat and returned to the task at hand. “Right, we’ll start with a deep breath now, and then with the next contraction let’s push.”

_ Let’s. _ Like he was pushing as well. Sherlock glanced up from where he’d been intently watching Anna’s face to smirk at his husband, watching his choice of words. Anna however had not noticed, or didn’t care, and simply nodded.

“Sherlock, help her keep her breathing even. Don’t need her passing out from lack of oxygen.” John ordered, noting her tendency to hold her breath with each contraction. Sherlock scowled at him, clearly annoyed that he was forced to be in charge of breathing,  _ breathing being so boring after all _ , when John got to be in charge of the birth. “Just do it.” John gave him his “I mean business.” voice and Sherlock dipped his head and began leading Anna into a series of ridiculous sounding breaths.  _ Ridiculous, but she won’t pass out. _

Anna’s face tightened, announcing the next contraction. John was just about to tell her to push when she let out a guttural grunt and began pushing. She pushed until the contraction passed then collapsed against the bed. John watched her with pride, this wasn’t her first rodeo, as they said. She had two beautiful children of her own, so she knew when to conserve energy, and John was more than happy to allow her to follow her own instincts.

“Alright?” He asked softly.

“Hot.” 

John nodded to the nurse who’d been lurking just inside the door, unsure of what to do, and she ran off returning a moment later with a flannel and bowl of water. Sherlock snatched them out of her hand, thankful for something to do other than ridiculous breathing exercises, and began mopping her brow with the damp cloth.  

“You’re doing great.” He mummered, baritone voice instilling a sense of calm in the room, even managing to make the beeping monitors seem less loud. She smiled gratefully, both at his compliment and at his assistance. The calm didn’t last long before her face twisted in pain and she gave John a sharp nod as she propped herself up on her elbows. 

_ This is it… _ John thought, feeling more than seeing the nurse to his right step closer with the towel ready to take his son or daughter away for cleaning. 

“Okay, Anna…” John purred. “I can see a head. One big push for me.” 

Three long strenuous minutes later the room was filled with the shrill cry of an infant making his presence known.

_ His…”  _ John smiled, blinking tears out of his eyes and took one precious moment to look at the little boy in his hands. Sherlock snapped his head up expectantly, his eyes searching John’s as if saying “Tell me now or I won't sleep with you for a month.” 

“Boy…” John breathed, reluctantly handing over his son, knowing his job wasn’t over just yet, hardly hearing the nurse as she said “Baby Watson-Holmes, 11:45pm, 24th, December 2014.” 

The following events were a blur to John, while Sherlock would be able to recall them with crystal clear details for many years to come.  (Though John denied crying while birthing his daughter.) It wasn’t until John was sat, exhausted, in the hospital nursery, rocking both babies while Sherlock watched that he felt himself come back to the present moment.

“Welcome back.” Sherlock smiled, dragging his chair closer so their knees touched with every rock. John smiled and after a moment stilled. 

“Have you held them?” He asked, clearly not remembering. Sherlock shook his head, his fingers drumming impatiently on his knees and gave John one of his most intense stares. 

“Alright?” He asked, fingers tingling as John’s body language told him he was about to hand the twins over. 

“Yeah.” John breathed, still in a bit of a trance as he watched Sherlock’s body relax the moment the twins were pressed against his chest. “Christ….” He swore, suddenly feeling like he was either about to jump for joy or cry.  _ Maybe even both. _ “Look at you…” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s temple. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and buried his nose into the dark hair of his daughter, noting how it was already promising to curl just like his, his heart doing back flips knowing he’d have a son that would look just like John. 

“She hasn’t opened her eyes yet…” Sherlock noted, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“She’s stubborn. Just like you. Probably doesn’t want to wake up yet.” John sat back in the rocker and sighed. “So, out with it. I know you’ve had names picked out for weeks.” he added with a smile when Sherlock feigned confusion. Sherlock blushed slightly then licked his lips, talking low so not to disturb the two infants asleep on his chest. 

“Was thinking… Martha.” Sherlock blushed even deeper as he confessed just how sentimental he could be. “Alexander, after your grandfather?” Just then their daughter yawned and her eyes blinked open, squinting against the sudden light. “Hello there, little one.” Sherlock whispered, his eyes growing wide with wonder as her’s blinked sleepily up at him. “John! Her eyes…” Sherlock blinked rapidly as if not believing what he saw.

“They’re…” John leaned close and smiled. 

“Violet.” Sherlock finished in awe.

“It’s rare.” John said, remembering what he’d learned about the so called mutation. “Alexandria’s Genesis… Genetic mutation, though those with it are said to have 20/20 vision their whole life.” Just then their eyes met and they both shared a smile.

“Alexandria,” John nodded, as if they’d had her name planned all along. “and William.” 

“After the prince? Really, John?” Sherlock’s complain was stopped short by John’s lips pressing against his.

“After you, you daft idiot. I did get a quick look at your birth certificate when we got married.”

“Did you…” Sherlock mused, clearly trying to recall the exact moment that would have been possible. 

“Well, now that they have names… we can go home.” John stood from his chair and scrubbed a hand over his face, his eyes focusing on the clock on the wall before looking down to Sherlock with a smile. “Merry Christmas.”

“Best Christmas ever…” Sherlock whispered as Alexandria fell back to sleep. 

“Even with your parents in town?” John quipped, placing his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, smiling when he laughed.

“Wait here, while I got take care of paperwork?” John asked, as he bent down to place soft kisses on all three of their foreheads. 

“Mmmm.” Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes. “I’ll be right here, John…”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly at the end! I hope you've all been enjoying this!


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of school, six years after bringing the twins home.

“But Papa!” Alex stuck out her bottom lip and pouted as her brother attempted to run away from the tie Sherlock was threatening to clip onto his shirt. Sherlock managed to catch him by the ankle  just as he began to scramble under the sofa and dragged him out, sitting him down on the sofa and sighing.

“He’s your son…” Sherlock grumbled as he attached the  tie to William’s collar, secretly grateful that John had talked into the clip on version, saving him the trouble of having to pin  William down.

“Our,” John corrected hiding a smirk but winking at Alex. “sweetheart, it’s just school. You should be excited, you love learning.” He smoothed down the pleats in her skirt and made one last adjustment to the bow in her hair that was attempting to keep her mop of curls out of her eyes. 

“But what if I get bored.” She pouted again, but leaned into John’s hand, closing her eyes with a big huff.

“Then you recite the song daddy taught you.” John said as he smiled at his 6 year old as she began to sing the song Sherlock had taught her about elements. “But not out loud.”  He glanced over at William and gave a deflated sigh, while Sherlock had gone off to get their coats William had managed to take off both his shoes and socks and was attempting to stuff them between the cushions.

“You, young man, need to calm down before Nana comes up and sees you acting like this.” John did his best to sound stern, but it was so hard when he remembered how much he’d hated first day of school. According to his mum he’d attempted, and half succeeded, in burning his uniform with his dad’s box of matches. 

“Why school?” William said, pretending to sit obediently on the sofa, little legs swinging in the air.

“Because someday you’ll want to be a doctor like Papa. Or maybe a policeman like Uncle Greg. And for that you need to go to school.” Sherlock said, coming in with coats and rolling his eyes when he saw the state of his son. “Put your shoes back on, and don’t give Papa any more trouble.” Sherlock growled at him, sounding a bit more angry than he actually was. 

“Sorry Papa…” William huffed, glancing at John who was still trying to pin Alex’s curls back.

“Let me, John.” Sherlock knelt beside Alex and nodded towards the sofa. John took the hint and moved towards his son. 

“Socks?” He demanded, holding out his hand. William didn’t hesitate in handing them over. 

“Foot.” William stuck out one foot and scowled as John replaced his sock.

“Other foot…. Now.” William stuck his other foot up and dramatically threw himself back against the sofa. 

“None of that now, you’re acting like your father.” 

“John!” Sherlock glared over at him and pouted at the insult. 

“Oh, come on. You’re a drama queen, and the kids are picking up on that.” 

“Only because you let me get away with it.” Sherlock retorted.

“Yeah only because it makes se-” John clamped his mouth shut and bit his lip. It was true, letting Sherlock be a prat all day meant sex that night was always fantastic. (That is, if they managed to stay up long enough after putting the twins to bed.)

“Right, you’re all set. Go get your coat. And leave that tie on, Mister. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” William muttered unhappily as he slid off the sofa.

“I’ll see if you take it off.” Alex said her purple eyes gleaming with excitement, clearly looking for a reason to get her older brother in trouble.

“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll both be perfect angels in school today. Understand?” John put his hands on his hips and gave them his best “dad” face. They both nodded and pretended, for his sake, to look intimidated. “Right.” John nodded and threw open his arms and they both came running. He put his hands on the back of both their heads and sighed. 

“Come on.” Sherlock clapped his hands, drawing an end to the tender moment. “You’ll miss the bus.” The room was filled with squeals of joy at the mention of the bus. They followed their little feet down the stairs, waved goodbye to Nana, who stood by her door waiting to see them off and then before either parent knew it they were waving goodbye to them.

“Well…” John said, wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist. “Now what?”

“Inside?” Sherlock offered, leaning into John’s solid weight.

Back inside John set about making tea while cleaning up the mess that had been made during breakfast. Neither of them spoke, but let the silence of the flat sink in. John finished cleaning and leaned against the counter, handing Sherlock his tea.

“Alone at last?” He offered, sipping somberly on his tea.

“Alone.” Sherlock agreed.

“Means we can start taking cases again.” John suggested, thinking Sherlock would at least offer him a smile. However Sherlock’s dark curls bounced violently as he shook his head. John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He wasn’t ready to go back to that life either. They hadn’t stopped solving crimes completely, they never would. Sherlock had settled into taking the cases he could solve without leaving the flat, as surprisingly those paid better. Rich clients too afraid to get their affairs mixed up with the police, he’d explained once. And every now and then, when Greg had a case neither of them could refuse, Molly or Mrs. Hudson would babysit and they’d go off on a grand adventure only to come home exhausted, still having to deal with nappies and sleepless nights.

“Not yet. Next year, when William can keep his socks on without being reminded every five minutes.” Sherlock said, leaning beside John.

“You aren’t bored?” John asked, finally voicing the question that had bugged him since the day they brought their children home.

“John, how could I be bored when I have all of you?” Sherlock looked sharply at his husband and frowned. “How can anyone be bored with them?” He offered a soft smile and moved to stand in front of John, his legs over John’s outstretched limbs, placing a hand behind John on the counter top. 

“Not bored, just incredibly horny. Shower, meet me in bed in five minutes. I’ve been shopping!” With that Sherlock pushed himself away from the counter and disappeared into their bedroom, leaving John alone in the kitchen with a surprisingly hard erection. 

“So, we’ll be shagging while they're at school?” John yelled out, putting his half empty tea cup in the sink.  

“Can you think of something better to do?” Sherlock yelled back, and John shook his head uttering a small laugh.

“No, not really. Wait! What do you mean you’ve been shopping?”

“It vibrates! Now hurry!”

“Yes, alright!” John shouted back, happy to see that Sherlock was being a prat, knowing full well that the sex would be mind blowing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well lovelies, we've come to the end. I hate to see it, but I need to return to my other fics that I've been neglecting!

**Author's Note:**

> I have roughly 30 pages on Google Doc's written out. I will be posting chapters here once I've gone over them, and I'm happy with them. I hope to finish this soon, as I'm very excited for the end! 
> 
> I've gifted this word to and old friend, because it's a new year, and that means new beginnings. 
> 
> <3 -Tindo


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